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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26598196">When Stars Align</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrononautical/pseuds/Chrononautical'>Chrononautical</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dwarves In Exile, M/M, Minor Character Death, Quest of Erebor, Soul Bond, Suffering, The One Ring is Bad News, elves being cryptids, they need Erebor back for a reason, weird time travel but only the once</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:22:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>49,590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26598196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrononautical/pseuds/Chrononautical</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gimli wakes up in the past, he knows he must do nothing to endanger the future. If Frodo's quest danced upon the edge of a knife, anything he does to change the world around him could mean doom for all Middle-earth. As inevitable change comes, he begins to lose his memories of the future that was, the new future becoming uncertain. For he is bound in ways he never was before, even as a familiar quest begins to take form.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bilbo Baggins &amp; Gimli (Son of Glóin), Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fíli &amp; Gimli (Son of Glóin) &amp; Kíli, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>399</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Arrival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I cannot let a whole year go by without writing anything. I miss it too much. Reading other peoples work has been such a balm to my soul these days, and I'd like to offer something up in return. That said, this one might be a little darker than my usual stuff. A little stranger. A little sadder. It definitely won't update every single day as I usually try for, though I'll shoot for three times a week on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. There may be missed days and hiatuses. If you can bear with me, though, I promise it will end happily. </p><p>Today is the Twenty-Second of September. It is the birthday of two hobbits who walked through dark places only to see that the sun on the other side shone out all the clearer. So lets start walking.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The smell of greyberry cakes tickled Gimli’s nose. It was a scent he had not detected in three hundred years. All at once, memories of his childhood in the Blue Mountains flooded back to him. How he hated those biting, acidic berries! Only the hard little cakes his mother baked with them made the nasty fruit edible at all. Unfortunately, since they were free and grew everywhere on the mountainside, his family ate them often. Out of kindness, his mother baked them with butter and sugar as often as she could afford to do so. </p><p>“My love,” the dwarf murmured sleepily, rolling out of bed and padding toward the kitchen on bare feet, “Wherever did you find greyberries? And why would you go to the trouble? They taste like rot and orc piss.”</p><p>“Gimli! Wash your mouth out with soap! How can you talk to me, your own mother, in such a way? I put two eggs in these cakes for you. Eggs that your father might have had for his own breakfast, and been very glad of it. He’s a long day ahead of him, supporting this family. Investing in our future. Your Da isn’t a lay-about who sleeps past dawn and then criticizes my cooking. He had porridge, though it is not his favorite, and he thanked me for it.” </p><p>The person in the kitchen was not Gimli’s husband. Nor was the kitchen the one he expected to see in his cozy cottage by the seashore in the Undying Lands. No, this was the sparsely furnished apartment in the Blue Mountains where he spent his youth. And the person baking was his mother. </p><p>“Amad!” Gimli cried, for he had not seen her in over a century. Rushing to her, he threw his arms around her and buried his face in her beard. She smelled of coal and kitchens, for everyone in the Blue Mountains always smelled of coal, but also of the finely perfumed hair oil that his father gifted her with whenever he had an occasion. It was a dear luxury in the Blue Mountains, but a pleasant scent was a comfort in a life with few enough of those. </p><p>“Pray, forgive my inelegant words and the implied insult to your excellent cooking, my dear mother. I am still in the clutches of sleep, and my dreams are strange.” </p><p>She snorted, but her twisted lips did not conceal her smile as she pushed him gently back. “Away with you, my silver tongued dreamer. You’ll have your breakfast after you’re in your work clothes, no matter how sweet your words.” </p><p>“And I will enjoy every delicious bite of it,” Gimli vowed. “For what food might come from my mother’s kitchen that I would not adore?”</p><p>“And don’t you forget it,” his mother said, turning back to her work. Gimli watched her for a time as she hummed and puttered about the kitchen, pulling the cakes from the oven and setting them to cool. She was beautiful—famously so—but what he missed most was the sound of her voice. It was her habit to talk to herself and sing as she worked. Not entirely unlike his songbird of a husband, now that he considered the matter. </p><p>To avoid a scolding, the dwarf quietly returned to his own room. He saw at once how different it was from the light, airy bower which he shared with his husband in their home by the sea. The only natural illumination in his room was a soft, phosphorescent crystal which he would soon move next to the kitchen stove to recharge during the day. For his dwarven eyes, that was light enough. </p><p>He saw his childhood bed. Warm woolen blankets were kicked about haphazardly in the depths of sleep. At the foot of the bed was his wee toy chest, full of little soldiers, spinning tops, clockwork figurines, and other tiny baubles. Most of these were put away, but the figure of his great ancestor Durin still stood proudly atop the chest, holding his ax at the ready to defend the treasures within. The only other furniture in the little room was a bureau made of cheap wood, but smooth and well crafted. Atop it was a silver mirror. </p><p>How well that summarized their life in the Blue Mountains! A mirror was a luxury most of their neighbors would not dream to own, so the chest of drawers supporting it must be as cheap as possible. Gimli’s father Gloin was a frugal dwarf, but more importantly, their family must never be ostentatious. They must never inspire envy. Theft was too easy in the Blue Mountains, and comforts were too rare. The line of Durin was too weak to protect either property or people. </p><p>Gimli looked at his reflection. He froze.</p><p>The boy who looked back had hairless cheeks. No beard at all. Just the first hint of stubble outlining his jaw. The hair on his head was a short riot of curls, more like a hobbit than a dwarf, really, though he was tall enough. Tall and scrawny in the gawky way of fifty-year-olds everywhere. Despite knowing for certain that he would grow into a fine, sturdy dwarf, Gimli could not help the shame that flooded him. He would not trade the silver in his true hair for this body if it came with the crown of Khazad Dum.</p><p>Gimli pressed a hand to his cheek. There was stubble along his jaw, but the rest was as smooth as Legolas’s bottom. Beneath his fingers, the skin burned red. At least his husband would never see him looking this way. </p><p>There was a laugh from the doorway, quickly muffled. “Your beard will come, inudoy,” his mother said. “You must only be patient. But your shift in the mine will not wait. It is a great trust that Master Bifur shows in you, letting one so young join his team. You must work hard to prove your worth.”</p><p>“I will, amad,” he promised. </p><p>Shaking himself, Gimli quickly shrugged out of his sleep clothes and into the sturdy work shirt and breeches he found in his bureau. They were plain and serviceable, but his boots were steel toed with the finest dwarven cobbling available. Not flashy, but probably worth nearly as much as the mirror when new. Gimli’s father had an eye for quality, and knew the difference between a luxury and an investment. </p><p>Kissing his mother on the cheek, Gimli stuffed his mouth and his pockets full of her cakes, heaved his pickax over his shoulder, and dashed out into the street. </p><p>The smell assaulted him instantly. There was too much coal in the Blue Mountains and not enough of anything else. Too many dwarves lived in the close, cramped quarters, scraping by with reforged iron and a little bit of tin. But the new mine, Gimli’s mine, would change things. There were mighty veins of copper just waiting to be found. He remembered finding it, all those centuries ago. With copper, the dwarves could make bronze. It was not steel. Not by any stroke of the hammer. But bronze was good enough for cooking pots and wagon wheels. Bronze would give the merchants like Gimli’s father something valuable enough to trade other than coal. Bronze would help Durin’s folk endure until they could return to Erebor. </p><p>As his mother warned, Gimli was the last member of his team to arrive. Fortunately, the others were still readying for their descent. Bifur was lighting his lamp to lead the way. That was his duty as the head of their team, and it was the most dangerous job in a mine. Foul air that might suffocate the dwarves would suffocate the flame first. However, that was not the real danger he faced. </p><p>Bifur’s little flame went well in advance of the rest of the team to catch the firedamp. Deadly gasses deep within the earth would ignite from a single spark sent up by the strike of a shovel. In some tunnels, the cleverly made lantern could be set on a wheeled cart and rolled ahead. Any explosion caused by that would claim no dwarves. But in some places, the only way to advance the flame was to carry it. The leader of a mining team was always a brave old soldier, whether or not he had an ax buried in his skull to prove it as Bifur did. </p><p>Mining coal shared none of the pleasures that mining gold and jewels in Erebor offered a young dwarf, and it had six times as many dangers. Gimli sighed and wondered when this strange dream would end. </p><p>Work was work, and the son of Gloin knew the work of a mine well. His muscles might strain under weight that should have been easy to lift, but the pickaxe was as familiar in his hand as his pipe. Coal chinked out of the vein in perfect, even lumps with minimal dust. Gimli even impressed those closest to him by flipping these chunks into the minecart with the blade of his pickaxe. </p><p>“Lo,” he sang as they worked. “The merchant’s carriage goes click clack, click clack. And the farmer’s wagon goes trip trap, trip trap. But a miner’s cart goes clink clank, clink clank, and his purse is filled with gold.”</p><p>It was a nonsense song, of course. Most mining tunes were. What mattered was the measure, and it kept time with an ax stroke nicely. The rhythm of his work and the strange riddle of this continuing dream teased Gimli’s mind, and he almost failed to notice when Agni broke into a new cave chamber and Bifur ordered a stop for lunch.</p><p>“Give me the lantern, why don’t you?” Agni said. “I’ve a good feeling about this new chamber. Look at the striations in the stone. I think there might be metal here.” </p><p>“Ihgirî tîr, zû,” Bifur said, handing him the lantern casually as he unwrapped a meat pie. “Dolzekh menû.” </p><p>“No!” Leaping to his feet, Gimli raced over to Agni, dropping his greyberry cake into the filthy coal dust of the mine floor as he snatched the lantern away. </p><p>“What are you on about, boy?” the miner growled. His voice was low and dangerous. “Give me that lantern!” </p><p>“You can’t go in there!” Gimli cried. </p><p>“I don’t take orders from beardless whelps,” Agni said. “I don’t care who their fathers are.” </p><p>“Kuf?” Bifur asked, looking up at Gimli with a single raised eyebrow. </p><p>That stopped the dreaming dwarf. He did not know what to say. Agni would not believe that this was Gimli’s dream. That this day actually happened long centuries ago. This was the day of Agni’s death. Gimli knew there was firedamp in that cave chamber because Agni went in there with the lantern while the rest of them ate, and burned alive in the explosion. </p><p>Since he could say none of that, Gimli spun around, hurling the lantern through the cracked wall and far into the cave chamber beyond. </p><p>“How dare you?” Agni said, as the sound of breaking glass tinkled in the distance. “Do you have any idea what those lanterns are worth? Gloin’s son, born with a golden rattle, but you’ll pay to replace it! I swear you will.” </p><p>Before Gimli could answer, the mine shook around them with the force of an explosion. Dust rained from the ceiling and fire filled his vision as it shot from the crack in the wall like a dragon’s breath. Strong arms wrapped around Gimli’s waist, and he found himself between Bifur and the ground, shielded by the soldier’s body. He remembered that, too, from the first explosion. Bifur always moved to protect Gimli first. Perhaps because he was the youngest. Perhaps because Gimli was nobility and Bifur was sworn to serve. Either way, once they reached Erebor, Lord Bifur would be Uncle Bifur, and Gimli would be very fond of him. </p><p>Bifur rose to his feet, looking around. The whole team was fine, even Agni, though the experienced miner looked shaken. “You might have said you smelled firedamp, boy,” he said, but he reached out a hand to help Gimli up.</p><p>“Sorry,” the dwarf said. With the strange logic of dreams, he felt young. His heart was racing and his body buzzed with electricity as though this was the first time he’d ever seen an explosion in a mine. Technically, it was. At least this time it wasn’t fatal. “I panicked.” </p><p>Agni smiled. “Saved my life is what you did. I won’t forget it.” A shadow passed over his face for a moment. Gimli wondered if the other dwarf felt the truth of his fate. </p><p>Dar, Agni’s husband, came over to clasp Gimli on the shoulder as well. “Nor will I. I am in your debt, Gimli, son of Gloin.”</p><p>Agni smiled once more, bumping shoulders with his husband amiably. “Work to be done. Believe it or not, I still have a good feeling about that chamber.” </p><p>Gimli believed it. There was copper to be found. Copper that would make life in the Blue Mountains much, much easier. He returned Agni’s smile with a broad grin. </p><p>“Id-dulaz,” Bifur said. “Zê deraz.” </p><p>At the mention of food, Gimli’s stomach growled audibly. </p><p>Agni laughed. “Go on then. I’m not so old that I don’t remember the constant hunger of my growing years.” </p><p>Gimli grinned. It was strange to feel such hunger again after so long, but his pockets were full of his mother’s cakes, and soon enough his belly was full of them as well. Agni would live, their work would continue, and he would see his father at the dinner table that night. The dwarf was happy to let the strange dream run its course.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Accident</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To go to sleep while dreaming was very strange. Gimli did not wake to the house he built with Legolas, the sound of the gulls, and the scent of salt air, either. Instead, he dreamed of Aglarond, as he often did, and woke once more to the smell of his mother’s cooking. </p>
<p>When his bare feet touched the cold stone floor, he felt a moment of doubt. Could it be that the life he remembered was the dream? Did the Fellowship of the Ring ever form and fall? Were his memories of Erebor, Gondor, and Rohan all false? Like a vision, he saw three strands of Lady Galadriel’s hair, set in crystal with all the care such treasure deserved, placed with honor over the Lord’s Seat in Aglarond. That was not his imagination, no matter how real this dream felt. However, dream or not, his mother deserved Gimli’s respect. Dressing quickly, the dwarf went to the kitchen to see what she had for him.</p>
<p>It was porridge this time. Porridge with greyberries, which meant that butter and eggs could not be had for any reasonable price. Such was often the case in the Blue Mountains, and Gimli complimented his mother’s cooking even as he choked down the results. For his efforts, she rewarded him with thick slices of ham and black bread folded together with spicy mustard greens. It was a fine lunch to fill his pockets. Kissing her beard, he thanked her profusely and went to work. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do. </p>
<p>Although he did not tarry, Gimli took his time walking through the broad streets of the settlement. It was good to be in a dwarven place again, and to feel solid stone arching overhead even in the middle of a crowded thoroughfare. The streets were not as high or spacious as the ancient roadways within Erebor or Moria. In some places the stone was no taller than three or four dwarves, but it was comfortable. A few centuries more, and the Blue Mountains might be a place to rival the great kingdoms, just as Aglarond became. The smell was a shame. Higher ceilings and more room to spread out would fix that, though. So it was a good thing that Gimli planned to spend the day digging.</p>
<p>Despite his leisurely pace, Gimli was one of the first to arrive for his shift in the mine. One by one, he greeted the others, most of whom he had not seen in centuries, saving his dream the day before. It was a pleasure to be with his own people again, and to see bearded faces instead of only elvish ones. Perhaps that was why he lost himself so easily in this dream. The Undying Lands were beautiful to be sure, but it was nice to be surrounded by stone once more. </p>
<p>The pleasant feeling of returning to his childhood home slowly faded as a peculiar worry niggled at his mind. One by one, the other miners came, but Dar, Agni’s husband, came alone. They always came together. Dar often joked that their shift in the mine was the only time they ever saw each other, for Agni worked as hired security in the evenings while Dar tinkered and made general repairs for coin. Even so, by the time Bifur had his lantern lit, Agni was still absent. Gimli wondered. This was a dream. He was an old dwarf, dwelling in the Undying Lands with his husband after a long, full life. Agni died before they discovered the copper in the Blue Mountains, so he could not be there to mine it, even in Gimli’s dreams. </p>
<p>“Where is Agni?” Someone else asked, as they prepared to descend into the shaft. </p>
<p>“Lu iridzu,” Bifur said, shrugging. </p>
<p>“He had something important to do this morning,” Dar said. “Left before dawn. Wouldn’t tell me where. He knows we can’t afford to miss out on a day of pay.” </p>
<p>“Must have been very important, then,” Gimli said, guilt clouding his mind. It was not in his nature to be dishonest about anything. Yet how did one tell a dwarf that he was a dream? That his husband was a dream, who was meant to be dead? That would be no comfort to a confused spouse. So there was nothing Gimli could say. There was nothing anyone could say. </p>
<p>Except, of course, Bifur, who said, “Ifridizun.” The miners obeyed, finishing their preparations and following their leader into the shaft.</p>
<p>Mining copper was a far greater joy than mining coal, but the dwarves could not quite begin that yet. First, a great deal of stone needed to be hauled away, shafts needed to be shorn up, and every corner of the new chamber needed to be inspected by Bifur. Dwarves might be brave, but they weren’t stupid. Safety was always paramount in a mine. </p>
<p>Just before the lunch break, their work was interrupted. Agni came racing into the mine, shouting for Gimli. “Come quickly, lad. Your father is hurt.” </p>
<p>Gimli’s mouth filled with the taste of copper, but it was not the product of his mine. The world spun, but it was not the dizzying illusion of a dream. This was a sensation he knew well: the vivid, hyper awareness that came in an emergency. Yet this was an emergency that ought not be. Gimli did not understand his dream. His father was not hurt the day after Agni died. </p>
<p>“Hurry,” Agni said, as they raced through the crowded streets to Gimli’s home. </p>
<p>Their master bedroom in the Blue Mountains was no larger than Gimli’s room. The same unpolished stone floor was adorned by a single plain, red rug. The bed was larger, of course, for two people slept in it, but the blankets were simple, serviceable wool, not soft fleece like Gimli’s. There was a vanity and a mirror, but no other furniture. Usually the only source of light was the little corner fireplace, but Gimli’s phosphorescent stone and a few precious candles were burning now. The scene they lit was not a happy one. </p>
<p>Uncle Oin was there already, hovering over Gimli’s bruised and bandaged father. Heavy plaster casts already adorned Gloin’s left arm and right leg. He looked up at his son from behind a bloody, broken nose. </p>
<p>“Don’t worry,” the proud dwarf said, “I gave worse than I got.” </p>
<p>“That’s true enough,” Agni said. His laugh was a bitter squeak, more like a man than a dwarf. “Your father is an avalanche when he has a mind to be. Twelve ruffians with clubs, and he still went ahead and fought them.” </p>
<p>“You fought them, too,” Gimli said. Now that he could see his father lived and would heal, he had time to take in Agni’s own cuts, bruises, and torn clothing. </p>
<p>“I defended myself,” Agni said, still sounding bitter. “I didn’t think there would be so many.” </p>
<p>“You were right to come to me,” Gloin said firmly. “They were stealing from us, son. Agni’s stood guard on my storehouse from time to time, and noticed something strange.” </p>
<p>“Who were they?” Gimli demanded. “Aside from thieves and cowards to set upon two unarmed dwarves in such numbers.” </p>
<p>“His own security.” In a corner of the room, Gimli’s mother folded her arms over her ample bosom, looking more murderous that he felt. “I told you that you must pay an honest wage to hire honest workers.” </p>
<p>“I pay what I can afford,” the beaten dwarf said, accepting a potion from his brother and swallowing it with a grimace. “At least there was one honest fellow in the rotten bunch.” </p>
<p>While everyone else was looking at Gloin, Gimli was the only one to see Agni glance down in shame. Since he was not the youth he appeared, the Lord of Aglarond understood the situation at once. Agni was not honest. He was a thief. A thief who only regretted his actions after Gimli saved his life. </p>
<p>At once, Gimli had the larger dwarf by the throat. Slamming him up against the wall, Gimli menaced him with the half forgotten pickax as though it were a proper weapon. “Tell the truth,” he growled. “Now. Or I shall educate you on moral responsibility with my ax.”</p>
<p>Agni’s eyes were bright green. Gimli wondered if that was true or an invention of his dreaming mind. This was far closer than he’d ever been to the other dwarf in his real life. None of this was true, Gimli reminded himself, it was only a dream. So it was that he found the maturity to bank the fires of his youthful temper. </p>
<p>“Everyone takes some,” Agni said. “A cup of flour, and then you add a little rock dust to the rest so the level in the barrel stays the same. A measure of oil here and there. Easy enough to say it’s his own fault, for not paying us enough to afford the oil he sells. But I knew it wasn’t right. I was going to show Gloin all the tricks. Take him through the real accounting.”</p>
<p>“What happened?” Gimli growled. He would rather have the truth from Agni than a gold dusted version from his parents, even in a dream. </p>
<p>“Batch of whiskey came in last night from the distillery up the river,” Agni said. “I didn’t know about it. Barrels and barrels of the stuff. Enough for every dwarf to take a flask at least and water down the rest before your father had a chance to inspect. I didn’t know. Everyone was there. We caught them all in the act of stealing. Of course there was a fight.” </p>
<p>“Lucky there wasn’t a murder.” Gimli’s mother snorted. </p>
<p>Releasing Agni, Gimli took a step back and relaxed his grip on the pickax. “We’ll go to the king for justice.” </p>
<p>“No,” Gloin said. Sitting up in bed quickly, he winced, then fell backward onto his embroidered pillow. </p>
<p>“Aye.” Uncle Oin looked very grave. “He must be told today. If he finds out tomorrow, it will be too late.” </p>
<p>Gloin gripped his brother’s arm with his good hand. “Do the signs tell you that?” </p>
<p>“Common sense,” the old healer said. </p>
<p>Closing his eyes as though the words pained him more than his wounds, Gimli’s father sighed. </p>
<p>“The whisky was everything,” he said. “Cost me almost half my ore money, but I can flip it for three times that given how dry the mountains have been for the last six months. Would have had everything he needed. Would have had a surplus. Erebor, brother. We would have seen Erebor again.” A tear squeezed out from Gloin’s closed eyes and slipped into his sweat soaked hair, almost unnoticed. Gimli’s heart seized in his chest. His father did not cry. </p>
<p>“Gimli.” His mother had no tears in her own eyes. Her face was as hard as stone. “Run and fetch the king. Oin is right. This cannot wait.” </p>
<p>For once, Gimli felt every bit as young as he looked. It was well known to all that Gloin’s ax and his strong right arm helped Thorin Oakenshield win back the Lonely Mountain. Among close family, however, Gimli’s cousin Balin once admitted that without Gloin’s financing, the expedition would have been impossible. Gloin gave his skill and his heart to the dream of Erebor, but he also gave all the ponies and provisions. Without him, more than any other member of the Company save only Thorin and the hobbit, the venture could not succeed. </p>
<p>Forgetting that these events were only a dream, Gimli ran.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The King</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The King’s Hall in the Blue Mountains was as low and parsimoniously constructed as every other dwelling place. From the street, the only thing that set it apart at all were a few stone steps and the guards at the door. Those guards had grave faces, long beards, and polished armor, though close inspection of the latter showed it to be well worn and repeatedly repaired instead of replaced. Upon declaring himself to them, Gimli was admitted at once. </p>
<p>The hall was small, by the standards of dwarves and kings, if not in comparison to other dwellings in the Blue Mountains. Its stone floor was smooth, but the grey unfinished limestone that made up most of the Blue Mountains and not the marble or granite of a wealthy place. There were no carvings or embellishments on the support columns that Gimli passed, but before each one stood a dwarf in the uniform of the guard. Perhaps there was no wealth in the Blue Mountains, but discipline and duty always filled the hearts of Durin’s folk. </p>
<p>Seeing Balin standing solemnly to the right of the King’s Seat nearly broke Gimli. Overcome with the desire to run to his cousin, embrace him joyfully, and exhort a promise that the older dwarf would never go within a hundred miles of Moria, Gimli barely restrained himself. Indeed, it was only the shock of seeing Thorin Oakenshield that allowed him to manage it. </p>
<p>No crown sat upon his head, but there was no mistaking Thorin Oakenshield for anything but a king. In the fullness of his time, Gimli saw his friend Aragorn, appointed by prophecy and adorned by the winged crown of Gondor and the splendor of samite robes. During his youth, he saw Dain Ironfoot, King Under the Mountain, who wore the gold of Erebor with the comfort of long custom. King Theoden, and later King Eomer, both had the honor of Rohan etched in every item of clothing, carved and embroidered horseheads combined with many other details which announced their high station. His father in law, the King of Mirkwood, crowned all. Thranduil had jewelry for every occasion, and clothing made of beads, silks, and embroidery that far surpassed the work of mortals. </p>
<p>Thorin Oakenshield wore no such finery. His shirt was blue silk, but a keen eye showed the cuffs and collar to be well worn and long used. The serviceable belt which held his sword was plain leather and unadorned steel. His boots were very like to Gimli’s own: well made, but unobtrusive. Only two mithril beads in the braids that framed his face gave any hint of wealth to his person. Yet the dignity with which he sat in state surpassed any king of Gimli’s memory, saving only Aragorn in that moment when they stood before the armies of Mordor about to sell their lives and the lives of all their army to buy Frodo a few minutes free of Sauron’s attention. </p>
<p>Gimli dropped into a bow, unable to do less in the face of such dignity. </p>
<p>“Be welcome in my hall, Gimli son of Gloin,” the king said regally. “My hospitality is always yours, cousin, though my nephews are away and your visit will not be with them. Tell me, how do you fare?” </p>
<p>“My King,” Gimli said, finding his voice. “It is the greatest honor of my life so far to stand before you as myself and without my parents to represent me, yet I wish that it came under any other circumstance. For I come to beg justice. My father was assaulted and even now lies wounded in his bed. Although it shames me to ask, I pray that you will do my family the tremendous service of sending someone to our home to hear him. He can identify the thieves easily, and we have another witness.” </p>
<p>Looking around a little, Gimli did not see Dwalin among the guards, or he would have asked for his cousin directly. Both of the sons of Fundin were beyond reproach when it came to enforcing the law, but Dwalin would one day be the Captain of the Guard in Erebor. Gimli wished for his familiar face. Instead, Thorin Oakenshield himself stepped forward. A flicker of anxiety crossed his face before it smoothed once more into placid confidence.</p>
<p>“Thy father is among our most trusted kinsmen,” King Thorin said. “Balin and I will come.” </p>
<p>Which was far more than even kin could ask of a king. In theory, the justice was the King’s Justice whether a guard or Thorin meted it out, but kings did not visit witnesses in their homes or track down the perpetrators of crime on their own. Thorin Oakenshield did. He was the shield of Durin’s Folk when they were most in need. </p>
<p>Following him through the Blue Mountains, Gimli was a child again, thinking he would follow Thorin Oakenshield to the ends of the world. </p>
<p>Grave faced and efficient, the king had each of the thieving employees brought before Gloin in his sickbed to apologize before the day was out. Their sentence was discussed with Gloin before being given, and two years of rock-breaking was settled upon. A year for the robbery and another for the assault seeming reasonable to all parties. Gimli was awed to witness the tears of the fallen dwarves as they genuinely begged the king for forgiveness. These were not hardened criminals. They were dwarves who had nothing, and so compromised their honor to feed themselves and their families. </p>
<p>Thorin Oakenshield was a hard dwarf—he had to be—but Gimli saw forgiveness in the king’s eyes. More than that. King Thorin took the burden of guilt on his own powerful shoulders. He clearly felt that his people should not have to steal—that they would not have to steal in a different place under a different king. One day, things would be better. </p>
<p>It was the first time Gimli ever saw such judgment, and the faces of all concerned branded his heart like a maker’s mark. </p>
<p>Thinking about it, that seemed strange. Surely in Erebor or Minas Tirith he must have seen a thief judged for a crime. In Aglarond where he was lord, he must have presided over such a trial. Yet he had no memory of anything of the kind. This was the first. </p>
<p>However, Gimli had little time to consider the problem of his memories in this strange dream world so like his childhood. For once judgment was dealt, King Thorin and Balin sat down to speak with his family. The topic was much more serious than the theft of a few flagons of whiskey. </p>
<p>“There’s no way around it,” Uncle Oin said gruffly. “My brother will heal, but it will be many months before he is himself again.” </p>
<p>“I will not be well in time to meet the wizard,” Gloin said, staring at the ceiling. “I cannot join the quest.” </p>
<p>Cousin Balin and King Thorin exchanged a look. </p>
<p>“Under the circumstances,” Balin said carefully, “the King may be willing to offer an amended contract to your family. The promised fourteenth share of the treasure, collected in surety by your brother along with his own, to be rewarded at the successful end of our venture, in exchange for certain material assistance as we begin preparations.” </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Uncle Oin leaned close to the bed, putting his horn to his ear and tilting his head toward his brother. “What was that? Speak up.” </p>
<p>“No,” Gimli’s father repeated. </p>
<p>“But Gloin! The signs! The birds are returning to the Lonely Mountain. I know it,” Uncle Oin said urgently. “We dwarves must return as well.”</p>
<p>“It is a dream, Oin,” Adad said, still staring at the rough, unfinished stone ceiling over his bed. “Erebor was only ever a dream. Reality is this life. Here. My goods, my gold, must go to building up the Blue Mountains. Providing for my son and my wife.” </p>
<p>Stepping forward, Gimli took his father’s hand. </p>
<p>“And what are you providing me with,” he asked, “if you do not give me a dream? Shall I spend all my days breathing coal dust and never dream of crystal, Adad? I do not want mirrors or mithril. I do not long for gold. My hands do not itch to grasp treasure, so much as the handle of the ax you taught me to wield. Yet I would go into the world carrying that ax, a proud warrior of Durin’s Folk, instead of a hunched miser, weighing every option and pinching every penny. I honor you, Adad, for the care and attention you have always shown to every part of your life. Can you not respect me, just a little, for dreaming of Erebor and grander places than this? Would you raise a son to take no risks? One who knows no hope?” </p>
<p>As Gimli spoke, his father slowly turned to meet his eyes. At first, the young dwarf thought he saw the merchant’s face soften, but with each question, Gloin’s eyes turned to steel. By the time he was done speaking, Gimli feared that rather than convincing his father to back the quest, he would be locked away in a strong box for the next fifty years. </p>
<p>Without looking away from Gimli’s face, Adad said, “There is one conditional amendment to our contract which I will accept, rather than breaking it as a whole.”</p>
<p>“Name it,” King Thorin ordered. </p>
<p>“I will double the initial outlay,” Adad promised. “The entirety of my finances will be dedicated to the venture. Enough to provision the Company twice over should losses be incurred on the road. But surety of the fourteenth share in the treasure will not go to my brother, and I will not be the one to sign the contract. Gimli, son of Gloin, will be the fourteenth member of your Company.” </p>
<p>King Thorin hesitated, and Gimli looked at him in hope. “He is too young,” the king said. “I cannot guarantee his safety.” </p>
<p>“My son should see the Lonely Mountain,” Adad said. “If the signs are wrong and the dragon yet lives, if the Arkenstone cannot be stolen and the six tribes cannot be made to join us in reclaiming what was lost, still the cost of the venture would be worth it to me if my son can but glimpse his dream.” </p>
<p>“Thorin,” Cousin Balin said, and there was a wealth of meaning in his tone which Gimli could not decipher. </p>
<p>“I cannot guarantee his safety,” King Thorin repeated. Then he said, “But I can promise this: Gimli may call me Uncle and look to me even as my nephews do. For all that I do to protect, train, and educate them over the course of this quest, I will do for him as well. If it is the lad’s wish to join us?” </p>
<p>“Yes!” Releasing his father’s hand, Gimli turned wholly to face the king. Placing a fist over his heart, he saluted, then bowed, then saluted again. “Sire, I vow to be of service to you. Should all the armies of Mordor stand between us and the Lonely Mountain, yea though even the dragon himself bar our way, I will face them ax in hand and help you reclaim our homeland.” </p>
<p>Joining the quest for Erebor was the greatest dream of Gimli’s youth, and the thought of it thrilled him more deeply than anything save his husband’s affections or the Lady Galadriel’s praise had in decades. Despite this, because Gimli was not the hapless youth he appeared to be, he could see concern behind the king’s eyes. A lad of fifty did not belong on a battlefield, or facing dragons. Likely, Gimli’s excited bravado did not do anything to convince the king of his maturity either. </p>
<p>“I must go to meet with the representatives of the six clans,” King Thorin said. “The Iron Hills at least may be convinced to join our cause without the Arkenstone. Balin will draw up the new contract tonight, for Gimli and I to sign in the morning before I depart.” </p>
<p>“Agreed.” Adad reached out with his uninjured hand toward the king. </p>
<p>King Thorin gripped his arm, and also leaned down to press their foreheads together in a familial way. “The Lonely Mountain is a dream, Gloin. It always has been. But the same can be said for anything worth building. We will see home again, Cousin. Do not lose hope.” </p>
<p>“My hope is in my son,” Adad said. “And in my King. I shall never again lose faith in either.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Provisioning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Gimli woke a third time in the Blue Mountains, he was happy. For once, he did dream of Legolas, though not the Undying Lands. His dream within the greater dream of his childhood was of Fangorn Forest, and the early explorations of their love. Those memories seemed far more ephemeral than the strange reality of the Blue Mountains. </p>
<p>With each day that passed, he began to feel that his life as a youth in the Blue Mountains was reality. The world where he did not join the quest for Erebor and later wound up married an elf was the dream. Closing his eyes, Gimli saw the three strands of Galadriel’s hair, set in crystal over his seat in Aglarond. They were not a dream. Legolas’s smile was not a dream. The glittering caverns were not a dream.</p>
<p>But signing the contract did not feel like a dream either. The grave look on Balin’s face was no fantasy. Indeed, Gimli could not recall his favorite cousin ever being so ill tempered as he was when he handed Gimli the quill to sign. </p>
<p>“Come with me, cousin,” Balin said, before the king even dismissed them. </p>
<p>Glancing nervously at King Thorin, Gimli waited for the permissive nod. The king smiled, at least, and winked at Gimli as well. Before them stretched a grand adventure, and the young dwarf thought he would not change it for the world. </p>
<p>Balin attacked before technically setting foot in the training yard. Spinning his staff, he would have taken Gimli out at the knees if the hero of Helm’s Deep were any lesser warrior. Experienced as he was, Gimli only just managed to dodge out of the way. Balin didn’t hesitate. He swung down, nearly cracking Gimli on the skull, then the arm, then a jab to the chest. Each time, Gimli barely managed to evade. Finally, the young dwarf was able to maneuver over to the rack of practice weapons without taking a blow. Snatching up a staff of his own, he faced his older cousin. </p>
<p>“Sparring, are we?” he asked cheerfully. </p>
<p>“It’s been too long,” Balin said, still not smiling. Falling into a pattern that Gimli knew as well as he knew how to breath, he struck, parried, struck, feinted, twisted, and tried to disarm his opponent. When that didn’t work, Balin kicked him in the stomach. </p>
<p>Technically, it was cheating, but Gimli was far too experienced to say that out loud. Orcs didn’t fight by the rules, and a warrior who trained by them was asking to meet peril on the battlefield. Still, the kick hurt far more than it ought. Knocked to the ground by a single blow, Gimli rolled to his feet, breathing hard. Some might speak of the strength of youth, but Gimli’s body was not as used to taking blows as it one day would be. </p>
<p>Going on the offensive was even worse. Gimli’s arms were like noodles and he did not have his usual weight to put behind his strikes. Rooting his feet to the ground to take a charge wound up with him knocked flat, and trying to push Balin down was even worse. It was like swinging an ax at a tree and striking iron instead of wood. </p>
<p>Gimli’s body was weak, gangly, and clumsy. In the end, he wound up panting, sprawled on his back, desperately needing the hand Balin offered him to rise. </p>
<p>“Much better than I though you’d be, cousin,” the old dwarf said. Apparently, beating Gimli soundly put him in good spirits, because he smiled now. </p>
<p>“You needn’t condescend or treat me like a child, Balin,” Gimli said. “I did not have the advantage once in that match.” </p>
<p>Laughing, Balin agreed. “But I thought it would take me five minutes to best you, not two hours. You are Gloin’s son, and he has trained you well.”</p>
<p>“But I am still beardless, and my body is not as strong as I think it is.” Gimli took one deep breath, holding it, and releasing it to stop his panting. Then he straightened up and looked his cousin in the eye as befit a warrior. “Cousin Balin, I know there are a great many demands on your time, especially as we prepare for the quest, but if I am to be a credit to our family, I must prepare as well. Will you do me the very great favor of teaching me some small part of your fighting skill?” </p>
<p>With twinkling eyes and a quirking mouth, Balin said, “I thought I would have to order you. You are a pleasant surprise, Gimli son of Gloin. Let’s take a third hour now, so I can show you where you went wrong, and three hours every day from now through our departure from the Blue Mountains.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Gimli said. Gripping his cousin by the arm, the young dwarf crashed their foreheads together boisterously. “I am in your debt. I will do any work you set me to.” </p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>It was a promise easily kept, for Balin was a marvelous teacher. Soon enough, sparring with him became not an exercise in frustration but a genuine pleasure. Although he did not gain the strength or the weight he knew he would have later in life, Gimli became accustomed to his young body. In fact, he began to appreciate it whenever he saw his cousin rubbing a shoulder or his back after a strenuous fight. Youth had no such stiffness or aches. </p>
<p>“I am forgetting what it is like to be old,” Gimli realized. Only then did he understand that he might be forgetting other things as well, so he wrote them down in a carefully ordered list. Aglarond, One Ring, Galadriel, Legolas, and Moria: the things that he must remember, if this was not a dream. Mostly, however, he did not dwell on the complexion of reality. Gimli’s nature was a practical one, and he knew he would need help to solve this particular riddle. </p>
<p>After working with Balin for the promised three hours every morning, Gimli helped his mother oversee the sale of the whiskey and the rest of their family business. Then it was his custom to sit with his father for a time to read, to talk, and to listen. </p>
<p>“Balin tells me you are working hard,” Adad said once. His injuries were healed enough that he could now sit upright in a chair for a little while each day. If his injuries did not heal more than that, Gimli worried Oin would forsake the quest to stay with his brother. Sometimes, he worried that the healer would not, and his father would languish untended in the Blue Mountains when the quest went forth.</p>
<p>“I will be a credit to you,” Gimli swore. “And to our family.” </p>
<p>“You already are.” Reaching out with his unbound arm, Adad took a large, cloth wrapped object from underneath his bed. Handing it to his son, he said, “And so, when you go to the land where your grandfather raised me, you will go carrying this.” </p>
<p>The familiar weight in his hands told Gimli what he held before he ever pulled the cloth away. “Grandfather’s ax.” A sharp blade segmented by two triangles made it lighter than many an ax of similar size. In fact, the long handle was wood, perfectly balanced for speed. Yet this was no elvish arrow to blow away in the wind. It was an old friend, just the right height to lean on after a hard fight. </p>
<p>“Aye,” Adad said. “Your grandfather’s ax, and his father’s before him. You go now to the land of your father, so it is fitting that you should carry it my lad. May it keep you safe. But know that if you lose it in the skull of some orc, your father and his father before him will be glad enough to know that the thing did its duty and kept you whole.” </p>
<p>With tears in his eyes, Gimli accepted the gift. Vaguely, he could remember receiving it once before. Then, it was the ax his father carried to reclaim Erebor alongside Thorin Oakenshield. It was the ax that Gimli son of Gloin would carry to defend Frodo Baggins from the forces of Mordor. Would any of that happen now? It seemed to Gimli that those memories were the dream. Far away and long ago, or perhaps portents of a future yet to come. </p>
<p>Closing his eyes against the tears, Gimli saw his greatest treasure: the strands of Lady Galadriel’s hair. His lesson that elves could be compassionate even when the fate of the world hung in the balance and time was of the essence. He saw Balin’s tomb in Moria, and he knew that was not a dream. </p>
<p>Yet as time went on, he was equally convinced that this rehashing of his youth was the only reality. It did not make sense. Gimli had done no magic, offended no Valar, nor wished for such a strange return to the distant days of childhood. Indeed, he knew in his heart that despite their many losses, despite that stone tomb for the Lord of Moria, the future must be unchanged. If he was really in the past, then altering it as he had was a great wrong. Frodo’s errand danced on the edge of that terrible volcano. Luck breaking in a slightly different way would doom all the world to those fires.</p>
<p>Another errand, no less risky, loomed as well. Gimli could not ask Balin if he knew of any stories of travel through time, nor question the scholar about such lore and magic that might make it possible. For to tell the truth of his situation to anyone was to risk being seen as fanciful. More than anyone else, Balin hesitated to bring one as young as Gimli along on the quest. The slightest doubt about Gimli’s character, and Balin would bar him, though it would cost the king Gloin’s support. Though it would doom the quest before it began. </p>
<p>So Gimli could not approach his wisest cousin, but he did have an uncle well schooled in portents and magic. </p>
<p>Uncle Oin was easily bribed with a drop of strong whiskey and a picnic hamper promising some of Amad’s infamous rock cakes. They gathered a few herbs on the mountainside which Oin needed for his medicines, then sat to drink and watch the sun set. All Gimli could see was scrub and grassland, but he knew that sun sank beyond the sea, in a land where there was not yet a cottage. </p>
<p>“Irak’Adad,” Gimli began respectfully, “What is it like to see the future?” </p>
<p>“Ach, lad!” Oin waved dismissively with the whiskey flask. “I do not see the future. I am not some sort of wizard. I read the portents, the signs Mahal sends to guide us on our way.” </p>
<p>“But can a dwarf see the future? Know what is going to happen before it happens.” </p>
<p>“I’ve never heard of one.” Oin took a slow drink, considering. “I suppose a fellow might keep it to himself, if he had sporting blood, and do very well.” </p>
<p>Disappointed, Gimli asked the even more unbelievable question. “What about visiting the past? Have you ever heard of anything like that?” </p>
<p>Oin squinted at Gimli. Then he said, “No. But it’s true I hear little enough. You worried about the quest, lad?” </p>
<p>Startled, Gimli turned to look at his uncle squarely. The sun was gone, and grey twilight hid his face with long shadows. “What do you mean?” </p>
<p>“It’s a natural enough thing to wonder, boy,” Oin said kindly. “Your father will not be joining us because of terribly bad luck. But if you could go backward in time, change things, save him, then he would be questing, not you.” </p>
<p>Above, the first stars began to fade into existence. In the west, Gimli saw the crown. He could remember gazing into the Mirrormere with Frodo, seeing that crown though it was not night. Yet he could not confide as much to his uncle. Such a tale would not be believed. </p>
<p>“Perhaps I only want to save him pain,” Gimli said. </p>
<p>A warm arm wrapped around his thin shoulders and a craggy forehead pressed against his own. “Your father will be well enough to come to Erebor, once we have reclaimed it for our people. You and I have nothing to worry about. I have seen the birds returning to the mountain, Gimli! Erebor will be ours again.” </p>
<p>While Gimli knew that to be true, he also knew that it would not be so easily accomplished. </p>
<p>Others knew it, too. Amad took great care to feed Gimli at every opportunity over the remaining weeks before their departure. He ate ham and eggs far more often than he knew they could afford it, and when Fili and Kili came to dine they had a cut of loin fit for any prince. Since the princes in question were his cousins, Gimli greeted them with crashing skulls and a grinning face. </p>
<p>“Little beardless Gimli!” Kili cried, though his own beard was only a little better. “You cannot be coming with us to Erebor!” </p>
<p>“I can and I shall,” Gimli answered. “And if I do not kill twice as many orcs as you along the road, you may call me little without penalty. But until that question is settled, you will answer for it!” Wrestling his cousin to the ground proved difficult. Kili did not outweigh him as Balin did, but he was slightly taller. Even so, Gimli managed it. As he only knocked over one chair in the process, it was quite unfair of his mother to banish them from the apartment. </p>
<p>“It is unfair of her to banish me,” Fili corrected. “All I did was keep score.” </p>
<p>“And what is the score?” Gimli asked cockily, for he knew the victory was his own by a wide margin. </p>
<p>Fili and Kili exchanged a look. They were always ganging up on him. “The score,” Kili said, “is one hundred and twelve to zero.” </p>
<p>“Zero!” Gimli’s blood boiled. “That cannot be so, cousin. In all fairness, you did strike me at least once. But if you would like to improve your record, you may come with me to the training ground and I will school both of you at the same time.” Marching ahead, Gimli did not look back to see if they followed. Instead, they skipped grinning to catch up, falling into step with him. </p>
<p>“Oh, I think he’s angry, brother,” Fili said.</p>
<p>“Do you suspect he disagrees with the score?” Kili asked. </p>
<p>“I feel confident in your count,” Fili said. “He wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.” </p>
<p>The training ground was one Gimli knew well, memory refreshed by three hours of sparring with Balin every day. Sand beneath his feet, weapons racks along the wall, and pillars of stone were all as familiar to him as his own bed. Turning, Gimli faced his grinning opponents. As one, the brothers turned and opened one of the chests along the wall. Standing up, they held a suit of chain mail between them. Gimli stared.</p>
<p>“Zero, my dear cousin,” Kili said, “is the number of opponents you have killed.” </p>
<p>“This is no bad thing,” Fili said.</p>
<p>“We’re advantaged,” Kili put in.</p>
<p>“Of course we’re advantaged, we’re princes.” Fili paused for a moment, clearly losing the conversational track.</p>
<p>“Caravan guards,” Kili said. “We’re advantaged because we’ve been guarding caravans while you’ve been mining. Fili and I have actually seen live orcs.” </p>
<p>“I have seen live orcs!” Gimli objected. </p>
<p>“When?” Fili demanded, but not unkindly. </p>
<p>Since Gimli could not say “At the very gates of Mordor itself, you self righteous stripling,” he said nothing at all. </p>
<p>Fili smiled. “There is no shame in it, Gimli. When I was your age, I had never seen a live orc.” </p>
<p>“When you were my age!” Gimli tried to master his temper. Rashness was ever his downfall, and he loved his cousins dearly. Even so, some things could not be born. “You speak to me like a greybeard, but you are not two decades my senior!” </p>
<p>“And I less than that,” Kili said in a conciliatory voice. “On the quest, we will be equals. Uncle has decreed that we should treat you as family.” </p>
<p>“You already treat me as family,” Gimli grunted. “You always have.” </p>
<p>Suddenly, for the first time in a while, Gimli remembered the future. He remembered the final years of his childhood, growing strong in Erebor. Fili and Kili were not there. Only an empty space. But that was not right. Surely his friends could not be brought low by this quest. He must be forgetting them. Or his dreams of the future might not be as correct as he believed. </p>
<p>Fili and Kili exchanged a grin. “Therefore, as your family, we have a gift for you,” Fili said.</p>
<p>“I’d say consider it your coming of age present, but I suppose we’ll all be rich by then, so I won’t mind getting you another.” Kili winked. </p>
<p>Finally, Gimli’s temper cooled enough that he could turn his attention to the mail shirt his friends held. It was of the finest dwarven make, tempered steel of such quality that he would not have been ashamed to wear it as a favored son of Erebor nor even as the lord of Aglarond.</p>
<p>“That mail is for me?”</p>
<p>“No one else will be wearing chain mail on the quest,” Fili warned. “I told Kili we should get you some leather armor.”</p>
<p>“And I told Fili that Uncle Thorin wears studs in his leather armor of such size and weight that it is practically plate mail.”</p>
<p>“Either way,” Fili said, “We think you strong enough that the benefit will be worth the burden.” </p>
<p>Gimli grinned. “I’ve felt the same about the two of you for many years.” </p>
<p>“Put it on.” Kili’s smile was full of teeth. “We should test the fit.” </p>
<p>As it turned out, Gimli could not take both of his cousins at once. Especially not with Kili keeping his distance and shooting blunted arrows to distract him. What he could do was give them more than a few bruises in thanks for the armor. It was heavy, but no more so than the chain he wore to cross the Misty Mountains for the Council of Elrond. With it, he felt ready to leave the Blue Mountains, cross all the world, and face anything. </p>
<p>In the final days leading up to the quest, Gimli could not focus on anything save the preparations and his practices with Balin. His whole body was abuzz with something like a fever. For the first time in his life, he was going to leave the Blue Mountains. Closing his eyes, remembering the hair of Galadriel in Aglarond, Gimli knew it was not so, but it felt true. </p>
<p>Wearing his new mail hauberk beneath a sturdy leather tunic, standing beside his uncle, carrying the ax of his grandfather, Gimli felt ready to leave. Yet bidding farewell to his parents wrenched his heart, and for a moment he hesitated. </p>
<p>Amad smiled kindly through her tears, kissing both of his beardless cheeks before pressing her forehead to his own. “My boy, my bright star, my beloved son: come back to me. See the world and fight your dragon, but live and come back to me.” </p>
<p>In so saying, she placed a helm upon his head. It was hardened leather, which did not weigh much, but with raised steel in four cardinal lines so that no blade would land on anything but steel. The skirt of leather down the back of his neck was plated with scales, so that to strike his back would be to strike his most protected point. A work of love, the helm was clearly crafted by his mother. Gimli wondered when she’d found the time to make it, and what she’d had to pay for the use of a forge. Likely, it was far, far more than their family could afford, and he gripped her very tightly before stepping away to join his traveling companions. </p>
<p>Gimli could not see how he looked in his new helm, but it felt very secure. Kili poked the adornment at the front of the band, between his eyes. “A star,” he said. “Smart. In case you forget your own name on the road.” </p>
<p>Laughing, Gimli put his cousin in a headlock and thanked his mother. If they did not set out from the Blue Mountains with all the dignity that befit a noble quest, at least their king was not there to see. He would meet them in the Shire.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Old Friends</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every time Gimli was away from the Shire, he forgot that a land could be so green. Little rivers and dirt roads wound through a maze of rolling hills, and everyplace that was not a well worn path of those two types was covered in something growing. Little lambs bounded through the grass, chased by fauntlings laden with flowers. When parents and shepherds saw dwarves coming down the road, however, children and sheep alike were herded to safety. </p>
<p>It was strange to be looked at with such suspicion. A dwarf of Erebor was always welcome wherever he went. </p>
<p>“Don’t take it to heart, laddie,” Uncle Oin said comfortingly. “Such little people must be on their guard around strangers every moment, I’ve no doubt. Not a warrior in the bunch.”</p>
<p>Thinking of Meriadoc Brandybuck, who stabbed the Witch King of Angmar, and little Pippin, who felled a troll alone before the Black Gate, Gimli smiled. The warriors of the Shire knew not their own valor until it was tested. </p>
<p>In fond reminiscence, Gimli stopped to buy pipe weed from a little shop in Hobbiton. Paying three times the expected price because he was a dwarf and a stranger was worth it for Old Toby, or so he told his uncle, but it pained him. In the past—the future, rather—the Shire was a welcoming land to any friend of Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Mister Frodo Baggins of Bag End. More than any other discrepancy between his memory and reality, the gruff incivility of the hobbits hurt. </p>
<p>There was nothing lacking about the hospitality of Bag End, however. As soon as Oin, Gimli, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur entered, they were greeted with mugs of beer and the sound of a party. Bag End was exactly as Gimli remembered it, with cold ham and chicken, cheese by the block, and more courses than he could count. Gimli’s stomach ached as only a young dwarf’s after a long day of travel could, but he steeled himself and resisted. </p>
<p>“Gandalf,” he said, bowing low, “I am Gimli son of Gloin, at your service.”</p>
<p>The wizard nodded down at him, barely avoiding striking his head on the chandelier. “And I at yours, my good dwarf.” Then the wizard squinted. “Wasn’t your father meant to join us on this venture.”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Gimli took a deep breath. If any person on this side of the sea would believe his strange tale and give him some useful advice, it was Gandalf the Grey. “May I have a private word with you, sir? About that matter, and other things.” </p>
<p>Raising an eyebrow, Gandalf agreed, and followed Gimli through the winding corridors of Bag End to Frodo’s room. As expected, it was an empty, unlived in guest room with a neatly made bed. The window seat was still there, though, and an armchair for Gandalf. </p>
<p>“You know your way through a hobbit hole very well for so young a dwarf,” Gandalf observed.</p>
<p>“This is not my first visit to Bag End,” Gimli said. “Though you may not believe me, Olórin, we are old friends.” </p>
<p>“Old friends indeed, if you know that name,” Gandalf said cautiously. “Or something else entirely. Show yourself!” </p>
<p>Gimli blinked. “I am as you see.” He paused. “Yet also not. That is to say, I remember being otherwise. Much older, having lived a long life, and enjoying my retirement in the Undying Lands.” Then he told Gandalf all about remembering the future, the strange feeling that his life was a dream, and his fear that he was forgetting important truths. Though when he pulled out the parchment of vital things, he could still remember all of those. </p>
<p>“Stop!” Gandalf commanded, the power in his voice like a roll of thunder, far too big for a little room in Bag End. </p>
<p>Holding the roll of parchment closed, Gimli stared at the wizard. </p>
<p>“Lindalë Maitar Mentië,” Gandalf murmured. For a moment, his thoughts seemed to drift beyond the world. Then he met the dwarf’s eyes. “I believe you Gimli, though I am as astonished as I am honored to witness your journey.”</p>
<p>“Gandalf?”</p>
<p>“To travel any way but forward in time is not a gift given to wizards, nor even to the Valar who I serve. Only the Throne which sits outside and beyond all things, and experiences all things equally, is capable of such.” Reaching into his pocket, the wizard pulled out a pipe and began to clean it. </p>
<p>“Are you saying—Eru?” </p>
<p>It was too much to take in. Gimli was a dwarf who knew his own worth. He did not scruple to address kings, love an elf, or journey into the Undying Lands, but the idea that the lord of all things, the Maker of his Maker, would be interested in Gimli’s small life was unbelievable. </p>
<p>“How to explain?” Filling his pipe with leaf, Gandalf lit it and took a long drag. Then he blew a curl of smoke that twisted around itself like several interwoven threads. “Perhaps it would help to think of the world as music. There is Eru Iluvatar, the composer of the music, and there are musicians. We play our parts, and listen to our fellows, but we are so focused on our own section that we do not hear the whole. Only Eru hears and understands the entirety of the song. And that whole is so much greater than the musicians can possibly comprehend.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Gimli said. “I have heard that metaphor before.” </p>
<p>Gandalf looked over Gimli’s head, out the window, to where the stars twinkled above Hobbiton. “Lindalë Maitar Mentië, the Musician’s Path, is a harmony. Eru experiences all as one, you see. So the things you remember, the world you experienced, all happened exactly as you remember it. Yet by returning you through time to this point, Eru has changed the chord. A new line in the melody will come now.” Turning back to Gimli, Gandalf smiled. “I have never been privileged enough to see it happening, only to hear about it from others.” </p>
<p>Gimli frowned. “Why do I forget, then? And sometimes I feel strange. As though I really am as young as this body seems to be.” </p>
<p>“Only Eru comprehends the whole,” Gandalf repeated. This felt like a trite and underwhelming way of saying that the wizard did not know the answer, until he elaborated. “The mortal mind cannot hold onto such a paradox. As the harmony changes, you will forget the base melody. Indeed, I am surprised that you have not forgotten all already. The change must have happened before your father was injured. From what I have heard, most who are moved can only keep the memories of their other life for a few days, but that must have been some time ago.” </p>
<p>Thinking hard, Gimli realized, “I do not know. I do not remember when it started happening.” Then he looked down at the parchment in his hands. “Yet this I made the morning I signed the Contract. Which was more than a month ago.” </p>
<p>“Ah.” Gandalf’s eyes focused on the roll of parchment. “I am afraid that you must burn that, my friend.” </p>
<p>“What?” Gimli clutched it to his breast. “You do not understand, Gandalf! The things I have writ here are important. More important than you can possibly imagine!” </p>
<p>“Stop!” Gandalf held up a hand, but he did not infuse his voice with power this time, only asked Gimli as a friend. </p>
<p>So Gimli stopped, but still he clutched the parchment. </p>
<p>“I know it is hard,” Gandalf said, “but soon you will forget all the nuance of everything you have written there. Others have gone mad, trying to follow their own advice. I have never before sat with someone walking Lindalë Maitar Mentië, but I have seen what becomes of those who try to direct the Music.”</p>
<p>Unrolling the parchment, the dwarf looked at his list, read it. He remembered Galadriel’s hair. He remembered Aglarond. He remembered many things. “I cannot let it go,” he said.</p>
<p>“You must,” Gandalf replied.</p>
<p>Taking a deep breath, Gimli compromised. “Let me tell you two things,” he said. “You are more trustworthy than any other creature in this world. If you will allow me to tell you two things that must not be forgotten, I will burn the list and stop clinging to memory.” </p>
<p>“Gimli.”</p>
<p>“Nothing personal!” Gimli promised. “I will not tell you of my husband, though he is the one love of my heart and if I woo him not, I will never love in this life. Nor will I tell you of tragedies, those deaths that I would give my every breath trying to avoid. Only two things that I discovered in the course of my long life, that must not go undiscovered. Please.” </p>
<p>Gandalf sat for a long while, staring at the list. With his hat and pipe, he looked not unlike a strange house, with smoke rising from the chimney. As welcoming as a bright window, and as impeding as a closed door. </p>
<p>“Very well,” the wizard said at last, “but take care. Know that you tempt me with the very fate I warn you against, and remember we are friends.” </p>
<p>Nodding, Gimli chose his words carefully. “In the mountains beneath Helm’s Deep, lies Aglarond. Glittering caves full of crystal that live and are more beautiful than any other land in this world. Dwarves must find them, to care for them and to keep the living crystal from the ravages of those who may not understand its beauty.” </p>
<p>Then the hardness in Gandalf’s eyes melted, and he smiled softly at Gimli. “Things you have discovered indeed. It sounds like a beautiful place. I will see to it, I promise you. You may release the burden of memory with a light heart.” </p>
<p>“Thank you.” Gimli swallowed his guilt. What he must say next was exactly what Gandalf would ask him not to reveal. To speak of it was to change everything irrevocably, yet to do otherwise was to risk the end of the world. “The other thing will seem small in comparison.”</p>
<p>“Many things are small compared to an entire system of caves.” Gandalf smiled. “Tell me.”</p>
<p>“If Bilbo Baggins finds a gold ring beneath the Misty Mountains,” Gimli said, “it is the Ring of Power.” </p>
<p>Standing up abruptly, Gandalf cracked his head on the ceiling, cursed, and clutched his skull. Pacing the length of the small hobbit-sized room six times with long strides and a furious face, the wizard did not look at Gimli. In fact, Gimli wondered if he would ever be forgiven the transgression. </p>
<p>“I am sorry,” the dwarf said meekly. “I had to.” </p>
<p>When the wizard spun to look at Gimli, his face was wretched with despair, not fury. “Had to!” he groaned. “Yes, yes, of course you had to! And what can I do now but follow the path you have lain for me? Yet you have told me so much that I would not believe possible! The Ring, not lost after the last battle, not destroyed. That is why my errand has not ended. Sauron must still be in this world, lying in wait somewhere. But where? Will reclaiming Erebor from evil be enough to stall his plans? You cannot answer me! You must not! Yet I see that your fate must have been closely bound to the Ring. You did not carry it. No, don’t tell me! Bilbo? I said don’t tell me, but even now you tell me with your eyes. Not Bilbo, but another. His heir. And he passed it willingly. While he lived? Oh, Bilbo. Bilbo! I thought to amuse myself with your adventure. How can I do this to the grandson of my old friend? How can I set him on this path? And his son. No, not his son, but a chosen heir. Curse you, Gimli, stop revealing such things!” </p>
<p>So Gimli did the only thing he could do, and shut his eyes, covering his face with his hands. He would react to nothing more that Gandalf said. Thus, the wizard would not read the answers to his questions in the twitch of the dwarf’s nose or whatever else he was looking at. </p>
<p>Gandalf laughed. Even a crotchety old wizard must laugh sometimes, and a dwarf balanced precariously on a hobbit’s window seat hiding his face like a small child is a very funny sight. </p>
<p>Gimli dared to peek up at his friend. </p>
<p>Sighing, the wizard sat back down, and lit his pipe once more. “Oh, very well,” Gandalf said, quite mildly after all of his previous theatrics. “I forgive you. In truth, I would have done the same in your place. The Ring cannot go undiscovered, and it cannot be picked up by a goblin. Or worse, by me.”</p>
<p>Gimli smiled. “You would do all right, I think,” he said, hoping to comfort his friend. “You refused it more than once, as I recall.”</p>
<p>But a shadow passed over Gandalf’s face, and the wizard said only, “Let us not speak of it.” </p>
<p>“Very well.” Rising from the window seat, Gimli tugged at the bottom of his tunic to straighten it over his mail. “Shall we rejoin the party, then?”</p>
<p>“That would be best,” Gandalf agreed, but before they did so, the wizard put a large hand on Gimli’s shoulder. “You were right not to speak to the others of your memories. You and I must not discuss them again hereafter. They will fade. Do not let that trouble you.”</p>
<p>“I won’t.” Gimli shrugged. “I do not know why I was chosen for this honor. I have never been a philosopher, not like many others of my acquaintance. I am a dwarf. I do the job that is in front of me. That I lived such a life once, knew love and beauty so far beyond what should have been my lot, was a glorious gift. It would be nice to remember it, for I shall not have it ever again, but I am not surprised to lose it. My own happiness is a very small thing, measured against the fate of all the world, and I shall be happy in other ways, I am sure, before my part in this new melody ends.” </p>
<p>The hand on Gimli’s shoulder tightened, and Gandalf stopped him before he opened the door. “Do not give up hope,” he counseled. “You may love again. Dwarven hearts are not like those of the elves, bound to soul and life and all. Like men, you choose. Perhaps you only choose once, but you do fall in love. When you forget this husband you speak of, your heart will forget that it has loved. So you will be free to love again.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps.” Gimli was too wise to argue with Gandalf, and indeed he did not want to, but he knew he could never love anyone save Legolas. Whatever this world held in store for him, whatever music Eru Iluvatar wanted him to make, love would not be part of it. Only in their journey from hatred to friendship as members of the Fellowship, in sharing grief, worry, and fidelity as closely as two people could, did Legolas and Gimli fall in love. The world was too much changed for any of that to happen again. </p>
<p>No, Gimli would not have that joy in this relived life. But when he joined the party at table and helped his cousins tease poor Mister Baggins by juggling his dishes and singing his name, Gimli thought he could be cheerful enough.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Round the Corner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gandalf had to physically restrain Gimli from going back to fetch Bilbo Baggins three times that morning. First, when they left Bag End. After all, Mister Baggins was sleeping. If they left while he was sleeping, it was not giving him a proper chance to reconsider. The second time was when they reached the inn where the ponies were stabled. Thorin ordered that more luggage should be shifted to the pony set aside for a burglar, and Gimli thought he would just nip back to Bag End and see if Mister Baggins wanted to change his mind. The final time, when they were all mounted and trotting steadily out of Hobbiton, Gandalf had clearly had enough. </p>
<p>“No, Gimli,” he said, grabbing the bridle of Gimli’s pony. “The hobbit must choose. Fili, Kili: sit on him if he tries again.” </p>
<p>Laughing, Fili and Kili brought their ponies up alongside Gimli’s, hemming him in neatly on the narrow road. </p>
<p>“Why is it so important to you that the hobbit join our quest?” Thorin’s eyes were narrow as he looked down at Gimli from his steed. Even now, he was the picture of a great king of yore, with his fur lined cloak and windswept hair. </p>
<p>Gimli felt small and foolish trying to think of an answer that did not involve the One Ring and the end of the world. “Because it is as Gandalf explained,” he said finally. “The dragon knows the smell of dwarf. None of us will be able to retrieve the Arkenstone by burglary, and that is our objective, is it not? To retrieve the Arkenstone so that the other clans will help us fight Smaug and reclaim our home. We must have a hobbit to sneak in, for no one can sneak like a hobbit can, and so we must have Mister Baggins. Although I suppose another hobbit may do if he really will not come. Perhaps we should go elsewhere and ask a Took or a Brandybuck, for I have heard those are more notably adventurous families. Or a Gamgee, I suppose.” </p>
<p>Gandalf listened to this speech with an indulgent sort of equanimity, as though he did not care about the outcome much one way or the other, but he started a little bit at the name Gamgee. Of course, only someone who knew the wizard very well would realize the single twitch of his left eyebrow was a start. Still, it was enough for Gimli to understand that he had once again let slip something about the future. Probably the Gamgees were not known far and wide as the bravest, most steadfast hobbit family in the Shire before Sam became mayor and his daughter ambassador to Gondor. </p>
<p>“What do you know of hobbits?” asked Dwalin gruffly. “Other than that they over charge for pipe weed.” </p>
<p>Feeling guilty for breaking his promise not to speak of the future, Gimli bowed his head before his cousin’s admonishment. Then Thorin spoke.</p>
<p>“I do not blame you, nephew, for taking to heart the wizard’s words. You are young yet, and know little of the world. His path is one path only.” Thorin looked significantly at Nori, who puffed up a little under the king’s gaze. “We are on a great quest. It is a privilege to be a member of this Company. I will not insult you all by begging door to door for some little grocer with more imagination than sense to join us simply because the dragon will not recognize his scent. I understand if you found Mister Baggins charming, for he is a fine fellow and a good host, but Mister Baggins—” </p>
<p>Here Thorin had to stop speaking abruptly. For who was running up the road, but Mister Baggins himself?</p>
<p>Huffing, puffing, and quite out of breath, Mister Baggins shouted, “I signed it! I signed it!” waving his contract in the air. Then, he handed the thing to Balin and bent over double, placing his hands on his knees.</p>
<p>Balin inspected the document with a jeweler’s glass, smiling and winking at Gimli. Gimli, however, felt just as winded as Mister Baggins. Once Balin confirmed that all was in order with the contract, King Thorin turned away, as though he did not care at all, ordering that Mister Baggins be given a pony. </p>
<p>Mister Baggins was not at all excited to ride, and had to be placed in the saddle by Bofur and Nori. While Fili and Kili laughed at this, a great deal of gold changed hands. Everyone had bet one way or the other on whether or not the hobbit would join them, though Gimli had been too sick with worry to place a wager of his own. After everything, Gimli realized that Gandalf had not been worried at all. The wizard won a sizeable purse. Apparently, he knew hobbits well enough, though he did not yet know Gimli. </p>
<p>Sighing with relief, Gimli nudged his pony into a trot and watched Mister Baggins ride like a sack of potatoes.</p>
<p>“Not the best seat in the world,” Fili observed. </p>
<p>“Lacking boots can’t help,” Kili agreed.</p>
<p>“Perhaps it isn’t his seat that Gimli is admiring.” Fili grinned rather wickedly, and Gimli finally caught his cousin’s meaning. </p>
<p>“Perhaps it is his seat at that.” Kili snickered. </p>
<p>Astounded, Gimli cried, “I am not admiring anyone!” much more loudly than he ought. Everyone heard him, though at least the king did not turn back to look. Thankfully, Mister Baggins also did not seem to care, for he was checking his pockets and patting down his waistcoat. </p>
<p>“Wait,” Mister Baggins called out. “Wait, stop. We have to go back.” </p>
<p>King Thorin did turn then, as did everyone else. To consider stopping the quest, some matter of great import must have occurred to Mister Baggins. </p>
<p>“I’ve forgotten my pocket handkerchief,” the hobbit said. </p>
<p>Gimli stared. </p>
<p>King Thorin turned back to the road and began riding once more wordlessly. </p>
<p>All the rest of the dwarves laughed and laughed. Bofur tore a strip of burlap from his secondary riding blanket and handed it to the hobbit, for use instead of a handkerchief. When the hobbit looked appalled at the notion, Gandalf scolded him. </p>
<p>“You will have to do without pocket handkerchiefs, and a great many other things besides before the end, Bilbo Baggins.” </p>
<p>Chastened, the hobbit rode on uncomfortably. Knowing how his cousins would tease, Gimli hesitated for longer than he should have before edging his own pony up to ride alongside the hobbit. “That is very true,” the dwarf said, “and Gandalf is very wise, of course. But I hope none of us will ever have to do without friends.” </p>
<p>So he gave Mister Baggins his spare handkerchief, which was clean and still unused. It was  checkered red and yellow cotton, very cheerful and probably terrifically unfashionable in the Shire. All of the hobbits Gimli knew always used white handkerchiefs, to be sure, but red and yellow check was all he had to offer. </p>
<p>Mister Baggins smiled and thanked Gimli profusely. “You are a true gallant, Master Dwarf, and I hope we will be friends indeed! But I beg you will remind me of your name, for thirteen introductions in one night is rather a lot for one poor hobbit.” </p>
<p>“Gimli son of Gloin, at your service.” Managing a bow while seated on the back of a pony is no mean feat, and Gimli grinned at the hobbit, who smiled back. </p>
<p>“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Mister Baggins said. “As I suspect you recall, being much more memorious than I, my name is Bilbo Baggins. Please allow me to say that you are by far the most mannerly dwarf I have yet encountered, and the most orderly in appearance as well! Why, you are so clean-shaven one might take you for a hobbit, excepting the boots.”  </p>
<p>Although it was very clear that Mister Baggins meant this as a compliment, Gimli did not quite know how to answer him. For among dwarves, being shaved is a mark of very great shame. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, Gimli’s cousins overheard this attempt at a compliment, and quickly joined the conversation. </p>
<p>“Oh, yes Gimli,” Kili cried, “your skin is as smooth as an elf’s!” </p>
<p>“He’s so handsome!” Fili swooned in his saddle. “All the dams sigh when they say his name.” </p>
<p>Flushing scarlet, Gimli put his head down and rode ahead. “I shall have a beard one day,” he muttered. “Longer than both of yours put together, and thicker, too.” </p>
<p>And his temper was such that he did not speak to anyone for an hour at least. The road twisted through a rather tricky bit of forest anyway, and so Gimli had to mind his pony. But his nature was a forgiving one. Although he might have been upset by the teasing, when Mister Baggins apologized over lunch, Gimli forgave him at once. </p>
<p>“I know you intended no insult, Mister Baggins,” he said, stressing the hobbit’s name somewhat, for he still felt his cousins owed him an apology as well. “In fact, I find hobbits to be very delightful people, and should not be upset at all to be taken for one. Last night as we were passing through Bywater, I heard the most cheerful song. How did it go? The only brew for the brave and true / comes from the Green Dragon.” </p>
<p>Mister Baggins grinned. “But that is one of mine!” he cried, for in addition to being Master of Bag End, the hobbit dabbled in poetry now and again, writing quite a few songs that were popular among his neighbors. </p>
<p>Gimli knew, of course, that the song Merry and Pippin taught everyone in Edoras had been written by ‘Old Mister Bilbo’ as they called him. He also knew that one day soon he would forget Merry, Pippin, and Edoras as well, so he saw no harm in learning the song again. </p>
<p>Indeed, it was a very great good. All of the dwarves, except King Thorin—who was above such trifles—enjoyed the cheerful song. Moreover, Mister Baggins had written many more comic songs, which he was happy to sing for them as the Company trotted along. In turn, the dwarves sang mining songs for him, and one or two of their more serious odes. </p>
<p>Traveling through the Shire was very pleasant, for they often slept the night at an inn. Even when they camped under the stars, the grass was so soft and the trees were so lush that the Company was as warm and dry as anyone could be out of doors in early spring. With three square meals a day, pleasant conversation, and a great purpose, they were all as happy as they could be until well after they passed Bree.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Roasted or Raw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rain made the scale plates along the back of Gimli’s helm tinkle like little bells. Where they struck the leather, the raindrops were as quiet as if they struck skin, and where they struck the steel cross they were barely any louder. Gimli’s mother was a great smith when she had time for her workings, and the helm fit his head perfectly in every dimension. Only the scales along the back were made to move, and so they rang out gently. While rain dripped down his back, pooled on the saddle beneath him, and drenched the whole world in gray, Gimli listened to the bells of his mother and smiled. </p>
<p>Making camp near the ruin of an old farmhouse was very wise. After all, it was the only place anyone was likely to find dry wood after a long day of steady rain. King Thorin was a leader worth following and no mistake. So the fear that Gimli felt when Gandalf stormed off after arguing with the king was entirely unfounded. Probably. </p>
<p>“Well,” Mister Baggins said, settling in uneasily as everyone else set up camp around him. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant, why don’t we?” </p>
<p>Building a little nest of branches for Mister Baggins’s bedroll to keep it up off the wet ground, since the hobbit would clearly not know how to do it for himself, Gimli asked, “What would you like to talk about, sir?” </p>
<p>“What will you all do with your treasure when you have it?” This was a very popular topic. Everyone joined in the conversation happily, except for the king and Uncle Oin, who probably hadn’t heard since he was bent over building the fire without his ear trumpet. </p>
<p>“Ah, Bilbo,” Bofur said. “There are golden harps in Erebor crafted with such perfection that they always stay in tune no matter what. Your Shire songs are all very well, but one note from these could bring a grown dwarf to tears. I’ll have seven of them, one for every day of the week. No, maybe eight. All gold and magical and perfect.” </p>
<p>“My gold will deck my wife,” Bofur’s brother Bombur said. “A ruby pendant to go over her heart, for our passion. Emerald rings for each of her fingers. Beads for her hair with every gemstone found beneath the earth. Ah, and gold for my children. Each of them will wear a golden chain about their necks, as fine as anything, and they shall choose what stones they wish for the pendants.” </p>
<p>“Gold chain,” Dori sighed. “I shall work with golden thread again, and silver too. Weaving samite like a proper dwarf, I will craft art. Real art, made with good materials, not the poor twine I must work with now.” </p>
<p>“You make your art, brother,” Nori said. “I will make money. I’ll take my gold in coin, and spend it, too. Diamonds for me, of every shape and size, hidden in a hundred secret places that only I know about. No matter what happens, I’ll never be without coin again.” </p>
<p>“Oh, Nori!” Ori giggled. “Have a little imagination! My diamond will be shaped into an inkwell. The biggest diamond I can find, and I’ll hollow it out and fill it with ink. We’ll all be so rich that it won’t be a waste. I’ll have golden stamps, too, to decorate my pages with. And golden rings as well. A little jewelry would do me no harm.” </p>
<p>“No harm at all,” Balin agreed. “It has been too long since I have worn finery, and gold would suit me well. However, in the treasure hoard of Thror, there is something more valuable than even gold. I shall see mithril again, and wear it, ere the end of this adventure. Mithril, that truest silver! Even a bead of it would be precious to me, and I will have more than that. Bracers of it, perhaps. Maybe even a pauldron for my bad shoulder.” </p>
<p>When Balin spoke of mithril, Gimli’s heart shivered with a strange foreboding he did not understand. There was something dangerous about mithril, for Balin or perhaps for everyone, that Gimli did not recall. True to his word to Gandalf, Gimli did not fight himself or try to remember, but he could not shake the feeling. He quite missed what Dwalin, Bifur, and Fili intended to do with their shares. </p>
<p>“A whole pile,” Kili was saying when Gimli tuned back into the conversation. “I shall bury myself in it like sand, and toss it about. I shall have gemstones so large that I will juggle them and make arrows out of them for shooting exhibitions. And a crown so that everyone will stop bothering me about braiding and beading my hair so much.” </p>
<p>Mister Baggins laughed. “And you, Mister Gimli? What will you do with your gold?” </p>
<p>Gimli paused. He’d never considered the question. Shrugging, he said, “I’ll give it to my father. He’ll know what to do with it.”</p>
<p>At once, all of the dwarves laughed, and Gimli felt rather foolish. They all had grand dreams; he should too. But somehow the gold seemed less important to him than the mountain. </p>
<p>“Nothing for yourself, lad?” Balin asked kindly. “The contract is in your name, not your father’s.” </p>
<p>Frowning, Gimli thought about it. “I will build a forge for my mother,” he said at last. “She’s a grand smith, you know. Best in the Blue Mountains. Made me this helm, she did. Though she probably had to pay old skinflint Durg an arm and a leg to use his forge. Charges her for every lump of coal, he does. And I hate to think what the iron cost her. Can’t make a living at it in the Blue Mountains. Can’t turn a profit. So she has to help Adad with his business instead. But in Erebor she will have a forge of her own. The finest forge in the Lonely Mountain, if I have my say.” </p>
<p>In the center of their camp, the fire hissed and crackled as the drizzling rain misted over the roaring flame. No one spoke for a long moment. Of course it was much easier and more natural to think about piles of gold than to imagine the small, practical ways that life would simply be better in Erebor. </p>
<p>Mister Baggins reached out and patted Gimli gently on the arm. “You are a very good lad, Gimli son of Gloin. I am sure your mother is a remarkable dwarf. Indeed, that helm is by far the best I have ever seen. Clearly, everything she creates is of the finest order.” </p>
<p>“Seen a lot of helmets in your time, have you Mister Baggins?” Bofur asked, and everyone was laughing again. </p>
<p>“Fili! Kili!” When King Thorin spoke, all eyes turned to him. “If you are here, who is minding the ponies? Bombur, how is that stew coming?” </p>
<p>At once, everyone sprang back into action, returning to their many neglected tasks. Finishing with Mister Baggins’s bedroll, Gimli set up his own. Working branches and twigs into a mat in the cold drizzle chilled his hands, so he was very happy to wrap them around a warm bowl of stew as soon as one was available. Sitting between Balin and Uncle Oin in front of the roaring fire, he felt that all was right with the world. </p>
<p>It was only moments before the world proved otherwise. </p>
<p>King Thorin was up, drawing his broadsword, and racing away from the fire, before Gimli realized what was happening. “Du Bekar!” he ordered as he ran. </p>
<p>At once, everyone else leapt to their feet. Gimli pulled his grandfather’s ax from his back and sprinted after the king, catching up with him quickly, but asking no questions. A warrior did not waste time with talking. </p>
<p>The scene the dwarves exploded into was a rough one. Mister Baggins was sprawled on the dirt next to an enormous fire, surrounded by three big mountain trolls. Fili and Kili were facing off against the monsters alone. Hesitation could result in death, for Mister Baggins at least, if not for all of them. </p>
<p>Remembering Peregrin Took, and Merry as well, Gimli swung his ax with all the force he could muster at the troll closest to Mister Baggins. He did not aim for the stony skin of its belly, nor did he leap up to strike it in the face. Instead, he planted his feet firmly on the ground as a dwarf should, raised his ax high above his head, and chopped off three of the monster’s toes. </p>
<p>Howling in pain, the troll clutched its foot with both hands, hopping up and down and cursing. If troll curses could come true, all of dwarven kind would have been in a great deal of trouble. Fortunately, trolls are not wizards, and know nothing of that sort of curse. </p>
<p>Still sprawled on the ground, Mister Baggins looked up in horror at the enormous creature bouncing unpredictably so near his little body. Then the hobbit sprang into action. Rolling to his feet, Mister Baggins only barely managed to avoid being crushed as Balin and Dwalin struck at the monster’s other leg with bloodless blows. </p>
<p>“Run!” Gimli told Mister Baggins. “Into the trees! Hide!” But he did not wait to see if the hobbit obeyed. </p>
<p>The troll released its wounded foot and grabbed for Balin instead. Dodging nimbly away, Balin cleverly twisted between its legs. Off balanced by its maimed foot, the troll toppled to the ground, landing hard on its side. Of course, such a fall did not hurt the massive creature at all, but it did stun the thing for a moment. </p>
<p>Gimli was ready. Raising his ax high above his head once more, he swung it down on the monster’s neck. Black blood spurted from the wound and the troll bellowed, “Don’t!” </p>
<p>Trying to swat him with one hand, the troll struggled to rise. But Gimli dodged the blow and struck a second time. </p>
<p>“Eat you!” growled the troll, but its voice was weak, gurgling with blood. Gimli drove his ax into the monster’s neck a third and final time, watching the light leave its eyes. It was dead. He wrenched his ax free of the deep groove. Even now, the troll was not beheaded. That would require a few more blows. Troll skin is practically stone; it takes a great deal of strength and a very fine blade to cut. The ax of Gimli’s grandfather suited this second criteria perfectly, but the blood coated it so thoroughly, and dripped so slowly from the tip.</p>
<p>Gimli was still staring down at the dead troll when an enormous hand wrapped around his body, pinning his arms to his sides. </p>
<p>“Bert!” The troll holding Gimli howled. “You killed my brother, you slimy little dwarf!” Then it lifted Gimli to its wide mouth, sharp teeth sparkling dangerously in the firelight. Gimli knew there would be no more words. Gimli knew the troll would eat him. </p>
<p>Out of nowhere, something fiery hit the troll in the face. It snarled, closing its mouth and brushing the flaming branch away with the fist holding Gimli. Fire burned his cheeks, but only briefly, and he cast about for the source of the missile. Looking down, the dwarf saw Mister Baggins standing his ground quite seriously with a second flaming stick from the fire. </p>
<p>“You put him down right now!” the little hobbit ordered the massive troll. </p>
<p>Roaring its outrage, the troll did not drop Gimli at all. Instead, it lunged forward to crush Mister Baggins with the club in its other hand. The hobbit did not faint or flee. Instead, he threw the flaming stick like a javelin directly into the troll’s left eye. The monster howled in pain, but he dropped his club. The fist holding Gimli only tightened. </p>
<p>Then King Thorin was there with Fili and Kili. An arrow from Kili’s bow struck the troll’s other eye, blinding it completely. King Thorin and Fili concentrated their attack on the hand holding Gimli, forcing the troll to drop him. When he was finally free, Gimli brought his ax to bear, helping his noble kinfolk drive the troll to the ground and slay it. </p>
<p>Standing over the felled creature, panting, Gimli realized that the third troll was down as well, though he had no idea how or when that happened. </p>
<p>Suddenly, Mister Baggins was at his side, clutching his arms and fussing over him, checking to see if he was alright. </p>
<p>“You saved me,” Gimli said, somewhat dazed. </p>
<p>“You saved me first,” Mister Baggins said, sounding matter of fact. As though he fought trolls with fiery branches every day of the week, and Gimli was the one new to the arts of war. “Why ever did you stop moving like that? You really must not let them get their hands on you in such a way. It was most unpleasant to watch.” </p>
<p>“I never killed anything that could talk before,” Gimli said, rather stupidly. Trolls are very wicked creatures, and the three trolls around that particular fire would have been delighted to have a supper of dwarves and hobbit. Indeed, they were the reason that the farmhouse where the Company camped was empty and abandoned. The farmer and his family had gone into a trollish cook fire and not come out again. However, that very crime was what made Gimli feel so strange. It is quite different a different thing, killing someone who cooks their food, someone with a name and a brother, than it is to kill an animal, and he had never before butchered anything larger than a pig. </p>
<p>“Oh, my dear boy,” Mister Baggins said, patting Gimli’s arms and shoulders even more, as though trying to reassure himself that the dwarf was solid and unharmed. There were tears in his eyes. </p>
<p>Straightening up, Gimli did his best to portray a battered but unbowed warrior. “I’m very sorry to put you to such trouble, Mister Baggins. I will not hesitate again.” </p>
<p>“Indeed,” King Thorin said, coming over to stand with them. “You have my thanks as well, Master Baggins.” His face was grave despite their victory. “Because you carry neither ax nor sword, I expected you to lack valor, but you have saved my nephew’s life this day.” </p>
<p>“Well, I was not going to let them kill a—a friend of mine,” Mister Baggins said. </p>
<p>Suddenly, Gimli was very aware that the word Mister Baggins hesitated to say was “child” and he felt rather put out. “Hammer and tongs,” he cried. “I have a beard coming! And anyway, I did kill that first troll, Bert.” </p>
<p> “So you did!” King Thorin said. “Your first battle, nephew of mine, was a great victory. To victors go the spoils, as has ever been so. Dwarves: let us see what good might come of this ill fortune!” </p>
<p>As it turned out, there were many spoils to be found in a troll camp. Sick as the trolls might have been of it, they had a great deal of fresh mutton on hand. Bombur salvaged it with a little help for the dwarves to enjoy back at the farm house. Alongside the mutton, there was an enormous cask of strong liquor, which Uncle Oin tested carefully and said would do dwarves no harm. At that, King Thorin declared that there would be feasting, and that Gimli would eat first, an honor to make the young dwarf blush with pride. </p>
<p>Before the dwarves adjourned to their own camp, however, Gandalf found them putting out the trolls fire. According to King Thorin, the bodies might be left for scavengers, but only a fool left a fire burning in a forest, no matter how wet the trees. </p>
<p>“Well, well, well!” the wizard said. “I see you have had quite the adventure in my absence.” </p>
<p>“Indeed we have,” said Mister Baggins. “Of precisely the sort I told you I wanted no part in, I might add. However, all is now well, and I must admit that a little roast mutton is a very welcome spoil of war.” </p>
<p>“Mutton!” The wizard laughed. “Surely you realize that these trolls must have a cave nearby to hide from the sun. There will be more than meat and drink in there!” </p>
<p>With Gandalf’s help, the cave was quickly located. Wonders, in fact, abounded within, but they were of a grisly sort. Many bloody clothes and ruined suits of armor were strewn haphazardly about along with gold coins, goblets, and jeweled weapons. Gimli found a child’s doll, stained and ragged. He could not stop staring at it. With a churning stomach, he turned and left the cave. </p>
<p>Mister Baggins found him some time later at the edge of the camp. Looking up at the sky, Gimli watched the stars disappearing one by one with the approaching grey light of dawn. He had not vomited. He would not cry. But it was a close call on both counts. Looking down, Gimli saw that the hobbit had a sword belted to his waist now. Something about that might be important, but it felt faint and far away. </p>
<p>“We buried most of the treasure,” Mister Baggins said. “It is too much to carry along with us, but those of us who come back this way can pick it up later.” </p>
<p>Gimli nodded. “That makes sense,” he said, finding his voice. </p>
<p>“Come now.” Mister Baggins took Gimli’s hand in his own. “Let’s go back to our own camp. This one does not suit me at all.” </p>
<p>Although he wanted nothing more than to leave with Mister Baggins, Gimli hesitated as they passed by the bodies of the three trolls. “Should we—do you think we should bury them?” </p>
<p>“Bury them?” It was not Mister Baggins who asked, but Gandalf. The wizard looked at Gimli with sharp, narrow eyes that made him feel like even more of a child, though the wizard alone knew that he was not one. </p>
<p>Squaring his shoulders, Gimli met the wizard’s eyes directly. “I do not say that ridding the world of these foul creatures was not a great good. In truth, after seeing the contents of that cave, I would that they could stand once more that I might have the pleasure of striking all three down again. Yet, they were also people. Brothers. They had names. Should we not bury our fallen foes? Or at least burn them?”</p>
<p>Gandalf’s eyes softened, and he said, “Your feelings do you credit, Gimli son of Gloin. Yet there is no need. These trolls will not be ravaged by wild beasts, nor even by time. They are not natural creatures, they are foul creations from the darkness. Behold!” </p>
<p>Raising his staff, Gandalf pointed to the first rays of sunlight as they crested over the trees surrounding the campsite. Staring at the dawn dazzled Gimli’s eyes for a moment. When he followed the movement of the wizard’s staff to look down at the trolls, he saw their flesh and spilled blood turning to stone. Their slain, almost sleeping faces becoming statues to lie there until rain and wind wore them away to nothing. </p>
<p>Feeling rather comforted by this, Gimli allowed Mister Baggins to guide him back to the camp. Their dinner of roast mutton and the powerful whisky was really breakfast. Perhaps the dwarves should have eaten and continued on their way, for they did have a schedule to keep. However, if you have ever traveled all day in the rain only to spend the better part of the night in a frantic battle for your life, you will understand why Thorin declared a day of rest. </p>
<p>So Uncle Oin broke out the liquor, Bofur got out his flute, and a very merry time was had by all. Many toasts were drunk to Gimli’s first battle, and many more were drunk to the Lonely Mountain and their quest. Before too long, the young dwarf lost all sensibility. He was not much accustomed to strong drink. </p>
<p>Swimming back toward consciousness, still in a rather drunken haze, Gimli realized his head was pillowed on something much softer than his bedroll. Opening his eyes, he realized it was the hobbit’s leg. They were under part of the roof of the dilapidated farm house, near King Thorin’s own bedroll, and Mister Baggins was stroking Gimli’s hair. This meant that Gimli was not wearing his helm. He could not recall taking it off, which worried him. He could not lose the helm his mother gave him, not ever. However, the sun was so bright, and he was in that rotten middle place between being sick from drink and still being rather drunk. So he shut his eyes again and resolved to look for it later. </p>
<p>“You judge me for bringing him,” King Thorin said, and Gimli did not fall back to sleep. </p>
<p>“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Mister Baggins. “You must have had your reasons.” </p>
<p>King Thorin sighed, not answering for a while. The hand in Gimli’s hair soothed the throbbing in his temples. </p>
<p>“He is very valiant,” Mister Baggins said eventually. “And quick witted, too. Cutting that fellow’s foot off, creating a weak point, was ingenious. I can’t help thinking, though. That is to say, he seems like a tween to me, and a young one at that.” </p>
<p>“Tween?” King Thorin asked. </p>
<p>“Twenty-year-old,” Mister Baggins said. “Someone in their irresponsible twenties. Grown enough to marry or own property, but too young to do so without a bit of guidance from the rest of the family.” </p>
<p>Once again, King Thorin was quiet. Then he admitted, “Gimli is not yet sixty. But I would not have brought him on this venture if I did not trust him with my life. It is. Necessary. That he should be here.” </p>
<p>“Well then, we shall simply have to look after him,” Mister Baggins said. Being pet was really very nice. Gimli wondered distantly if that was something he knew before. He could not recall. </p>
<p>“On the contrary, Master Burglar.” The king’s voice was as cold as the peak of Mount Caradhras. “Such attentions are entirely inappropriate. He is here now; you will treat him as a dwarven warrior.” </p>
<p>“I am a Baggins of Bag End,” the hobbit said sharply. “I shall treat my friends with whatever courtesy they are due, thank you very much Master Oakenshield.” </p>
<p>The king growled, low and inarticulate. For a moment, Gimli was almost concerned for the safety of Mister Baggins. Then he heard stamping boots pounding away. </p>
<p>“Inappropriate!” Mister Baggins grumbled. “Me! Honestly.”</p>
<p>Despite the pounding in his head, Gimli opened one eye to peer up at the hobbit. “The king knows best, Mister Baggins,” he said, hoping it would not stop the hobbit from petting his temples and keeping the headache at bay. </p>
<p>In fact, Mister Baggins smiled down at Gimli very kindly and did not stop petting him at all. “I’m sure he does, my lad. I’m sure he does. Don’t you worry about Thorin one bit, just get some rest.” </p>
<p>“But Mister Baggins,” Gimli began, only to be interrupted before he could speak in support of his king. </p>
<p>“Now that we come to it, Gimli my lad, Mister Baggins might be a little too formal for a dwarf who has saved me from a troll’s stewpot. Why don’t you call me Bilbo, eh?” </p>
<p>The hobbit’s smile was so gentle, and the hands in Gimli’s hair were so soothing. Not to mention the fact that the young dwarf was still more than a little drunk. He sighed. “Okay, Bilbo,” Gimli said, before falling deeply asleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Last Homely House</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Three days out from the troll encampment, the company was set upon by orcs. Wargs howling in the distance gave plenty of warning, so Gimli was able to dismount and square off against his attackers on foot. Dwarves were not made to fight in the saddle. Standing his ground, Gimli took a warg and its rider in two strokes of his ax as orcish arrows rained around him. </p>
<p>“Go!” Thorin ordered. “Gimli stick close to the burglar, and go! There are too many of them.” </p>
<p>Of course King Thorin did not follow his own order, holding the vanguard while Gandalf led their flight. However, it was not Gimli’s place to question. He obediently raced after Bilbo, happy to be there when one of the wargs leapt down from a rocky outcropping, felling the burglar’s pony. The poor beast could not be saved, but Gimli managed to get between the orc rider and the hobbit. Then he got his ax between the orc’s eyes for daring to look at the hobbit like he would be dinner next. </p>
<p>“Dwarves aren’t made to flee like this,” Gimli complained, running after Gandalf, trying to keep his armored body between the arrows and Bilbo. “Can I not chase the orcs instead?” </p>
<p>Laughing breathlessly, Bilbo said, “Another time, my lad. Perhaps after tea.”</p>
<p>Through trees, over a plain, and down among the rocks they ran. Gimli vaguely recognized parts of the countryside, but could not place it until suddenly they were in a deep crevasse. A hunting horn that belonged to no orc sounded above, and King Thorin lifted an arrow from the gravel at his feet. </p>
<p>“Elves,” he said, scowling at Gandalf. </p>
<p>“Oh!” At once the stonework and the feel of the land resolved within Gimli’s mind like a mosaic missing many tiles. “This is Rivendell!” </p>
<p>“Rivendell.” Bilbo’s voice was soft and awed. That seemed to add fuel to the king’s ire. </p>
<p>“I told you we would not come here, wizard,” the king growled furiously. </p>
<p>“Well, we are here now,” Gandalf said. “Unless you want to go back out there and face those orcs, here we will remain, Thorin Oakenshield.” </p>
<p>As this was perfectly true, the king could do nothing but scowl fiercely up at the grey wizard before shoving forward to lead the company through the rock hewn path. </p>
<p>Ahead, the crevasse opened up and the tight passage gave way to the most beautiful valley in Middle Earth. Flowing waterfalls sent their mists up in the golden afternoon sunlight, veiling the elven buildings with cloudless rainbows. The trees and plants that filled the gardens of Imladris were nearly indistinguishable from the architecture, so that the last homely house seemed as natural and glorious as sunrise over the ocean. </p>
<p>In the back of his mind, Gimli wondered about that comparison. He’d never seen an ocean in his life. </p>
<p>There was no time to worry about it, elves were talking with Gandalf and King Thorin. They seemed to be telling Gandalf he would have to turn around and take his dwarves elsewhere. Then the hunting horn which sounded on the plain blew out once more, and a large party of elves on tall steeds rode in. Keeping Bilbo at his back, Gimli squared off against the aggressive cavalry. </p>
<p>Yet it was only Lord Elrond. He dismounted and greeted Gandalf in a pleasant enough way. The two of them conversed in elvish a bit. Then the conversation went on a while longer. Gimli wondered what they were saying. Most of his elvish had been learned under the eaves of a forest with Legolas. Not the Greenwood, but some other, older forest Gimli did not recall. </p>
<p>Just as the length of the conversation began to worry Gimli, Lord Elrond turned to address the dwarves. </p>
<p>“Greetings to you all. I wish that I might bid you welcome to Rivendell.”</p>
<p>“But you will not.” King Thorin stood forth proudly, glaring up at the elf. Gimli was sure he misconstrued, but he would not interrupt his king. “That is just as well. We had no wish to come here, and would not have, but for the wizard’s guidance. If the orcs are gone, we will intrude no longer.” </p>
<p>“Now Thorin,” Bilbo said, interrupting the king, “I’m sure that is not at all what he meant. My apologies, sir, pray continue.” </p>
<p>Lord Elrond’s mouth twitched at the corner. “In truth, I would like to have you stay and break your journey here. My house should be open to all travellers, a place of rest and refuge.” </p>
<p>“All travelers but dwarves?” King Thorin’s voice was low and dangerous now. </p>
<p>“You seem set on misunderstanding me, Thorin son of Thrain,” Lord Elrond said. </p>
<p>“I do not recall giving you my name.” King Thorin was as still as mountain stone, but something about his aspect made Gimli wonder if they would soon be battling the elves. It would be a short fight. The elves of Imladris outnumbered the dwarves like the leaves of a tree outnumbered its trunk, and Gandalf likely would not take their part. </p>
<p>“I recognize your bearing,” the Lord of Rivendell said easily. “You have the look of your grandfather, Thror, in his youth.” </p>
<p>The casual reminder of elven immortality did little to endear Lord Elrond to the king. “Then my grandfather would have been welcome here. So it is only dwarves without coin that you turn away.” </p>
<p>Then Gimli did put himself forward. At his father’s insistence, there were many pouches secreted about his person for just such an occasion. Blushing, he offered, “I am sure some reasonable compensation for accommodation can be reached. I have—”</p>
<p>Lord Elrond held up a hand to forestall him, looking pained. “I would never ask payment for my hospitality. Instead, though it gives me no joy to do so, I must ask for your word before I give you welcome. One of my distant kin has come here for healing. A grievous malady even now forces him to the border of life and death. Yet he is known to your people, and not as a friend. If you are to stay here, I must ask you to swear that you will do no harm to any elf while in Rivendell.” </p>
<p>This seemed reasonable enough to Gimli, if a bit unnecessary, but King Thorin hesitated. Probably, he chafed under the assumption that dwarves of Durin’s Folk would go around murdering people in their sickbeds. </p>
<p>Once more, Bilbo stepped forward smartly. Bowing low, he spoke in very fluent Sindarin. Gimli could not follow any of it, though he caught Bilbo’s name, the word “star” and, perhaps, the word for promise. </p>
<p>For the first time, Lord Elrond smiled. Returning Bilbo’s bow with a nod, the elf said something in the same language which sounded welcoming. It gave Gimli an idea. </p>
<p>Stepping forward, he did his best to repeat some of the elvish that Bilbo just spoke. He managed an “Am I Gimli-the-son-of-a-Gloin-dwarf,” and the word he thought was promise before coughing. “I do beg your pardon, Lord Elrond,” he said. “I am not so learned as Mister Baggins. Anyway you could hardly trust a promise made in a language I don’t speak, so I hope you’ll forgive simple talk. I assure you that my vow is neither simply made nor broken. Upon my name, I shall do no harm to any elf while in Rivendell.” </p>
<p>Lord Elrond’s smile grew as he nodded to Gimli. “Your promise is a worthy one in any language, Gimli son of Gloin. Be welcome in Imladris.” </p>
<p>For a moment, no one spoke. So Gimli kicked Kili and said, “You’re next youngest, you simpleton.” </p>
<p>“Oh!” Kili, blessed as he was with an occasionally inattentive nature, looked suddenly baffled and alert. His own bow was very low as a result, but his words were clear enough. “I, Kili son of Dis, swear upon my dark name to do no harm to anyone while a guest here in Rivendell.” </p>
<p>Fili, who was cleverer than his brother, glanced at his uncle before swearing. When King Thorin made no move to stop him, Fili gave his word.</p>
<p>So the promises and acceptance spread as one by one the company stepped forward, until it was Nori’s turn. Nori promised to do no harm to any elf in Rivendell, unless they first did harm to him. Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow at this change of phrase, but accepted his word. Those who promised after Nori all used his phrasing, even King Thorin, but Lord Elrond did not seem to mind. In fact, he bade them all to supper. </p>
<p>A simple meal with lots of salad and other green things was lain. Many of the dwarves took this as a further insult, but Bilbo seemed to enjoy it. Gimli didn’t think it was bad, necessarily, though he  would have liked a bit of meat. The wine was very fine, at any rate. Moreover, the honor Lord Elrond did to King Thorin and Gandalf by seating them next to him was very obvious. </p>
<p>With the knowledge born of long life, Lord Elrond recognized the swords taken from the troll cave as Orcrist and Glamdring. They were great works from the First Age, ancient and wonderful weapons which would glow blue whenever orcs or goblins were near. Overhearing this, Bilbo drew forth his own sword. In his hand it was a sword, at least. To an elf or a man, it would be little more than a knife. Balin laughed and called it a letter opener, and the meal grew merry enough. </p>
<p>“I must ask,” King Thorin said, as everyone settled into their cups, “Who is the sick elf? I have vowed not to harm him, and I will not, but I am curious. Your people do not often fall ill.”</p>
<p>Lord Elrond’s mouth set into a straight line, and he looked at King Thorin steadily, weighing his answer before giving it. “You speak truly. With few exceptions, elves are not given to the same fevers and plagues that often trouble mortal men. In fact, the malady which troubles my patient confounded the healers of his own land, which is why he was brought to me. It is a wasting disease that saps his strength. For nigh three months before coming to Rivendell, he knew no rest of any kind and could barely be forced to eat. Elves may be able to live long on little, but he is close to death indeed, if nothing can be done.” </p>
<p>After a moment of silent contemplation, King Thorin took a sip of his wine. “Then he has my pity. I would not wish such torment on any creature, even one that I would otherwise seek to give a quick death. Is it Thranduil?” </p>
<p>“No,” said Lord Elrond. “His third son: Legolas.” </p>
<p>All conversation went silent. Or at least it seemed so to Gimli. Through blurred vision he could see the dwarves at table moving about. But he heard nothing. He understood nothing. Legolas. Legolas was dying. </p>
<p>It could not be so.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Sickroom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gimli did not know how he managed to follow Lord Elrond after dinner. Somehow, the meal ended, and then he was standing alone in a corridor with the Lord of Rivendell and an attache, begging for a word.</p>
<p>Dismissing the elf at his side, Lord Elrond looked down at Gimli kindly. “Yes, Gimli son of Gloin? What can I do to be of service to you?”</p>
<p>“It is I who seek to make that offer, my lord,” Gimli said at once. “Forsooth, I will be ever in your debt if you allow it. Is there nothing I can do to be of aid to Legolas Greenleaf? Surely, if his healing is beyond your art it is only because something more is required. Some sacred root that may be fetched from the far-flung fields of Nurn, a pungent oil only found in Harad, or a hidden pearl that must be gathered from the bottom of the sea: I care not how difficult the quest. Tell me only that he needs some aid, and I will see it done.” </p>
<p>Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow. “You are already on one dangerous journey. Why would you seek to undertake another?” </p>
<p>Gimli hesitated. “I cannot tell you that.” </p>
<p>“Can you not? Yet you would have me believe that you wish to aid the sworn enemy of your people. I am not so foolish, Master Dwarf. Although perhaps I was a fool indeed to take you at your word.” </p>
<p>“Ai!” Gimli cried. “If I must be forsworn to save him, then break my word I will. Let me fail Gandalf’s test. I have done so already, and worse would I do yet, knowing I must somehow be the cause of this. For he was never sick before! Thus it must be I who blight him, if the wizard’s words are true.”</p>
<p>“Hold!” Lord Elrond raised a hand. Though Gimli’s distressed heart nearly broke free of his chest, the dwarf obediently fell silent. “Gandalf swore you to secrecy in some matter pertaining to my patient?”</p>
<p>Gimli nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth. </p>
<p>“Then it is to Gandalf that we must speak next.” Lord Elrond led Gimli to a small study, with many comfortable seats and beautiful art adorning the walls. The young dwarf sank into a chair, but he had no eyes for beauty. </p>
<p>After what might have been two minutes or ten hours from Gimli’s perspective, Gandalf was shown in by an elf who promptly shut the door and left the trio to private conference. </p>
<p>“Mithrandir,” Lord Elrond said gravely, “this young dwarf confides in me that the two of you have somehow orchestrated the illness which afflicts my patient.” </p>
<p>Both of Gandalf’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “We most certainly did not.” </p>
<p>“We did!” Burying his face in his hands, Gimli removed his helm. Letting it fall carelessly to the floor, he tore at his hair. “We did, Gandalf! We must have. I tell you, Legolas was never sick before. Ask me anything else: to give my own life; to never look upon the Lady; aye, even to see him fall in battle. But he suffers. Did you not hear how he suffers?” </p>
<p>“Gimli, you still—” Gandalf paused. “How do you still remember so much?” </p>
<p>Lord Elrond’s voice was hard. “We have been friends for many lifetimes of mortal men, Mithrandir. So you will tell me now what you did to the poor elf under my care.” </p>
<p>“I do not know.” Gandalf’s voice was slow and soft, like a shepherd gentling a frightened lamb. “It is because of our long years of friendship that I would have spared you this knowledge if I could. Gimli is on the Musician’s Path.”</p>
<p>“Lindalë Maitar Mentië?” The marble cast of Lord Elrond’s face fell away. In its place was a portrait of surprise. </p>
<p>“Yes,” said Gandalf. “Several months ago at least. I have never heard of anyone on that path remembering this much for so long.”</p>
<p>“I have never heard of a dwarf set upon that path at all. The race is notably resistant to change.”</p>
<p>“A fine point, though it does not entirely explain why he would be chosen.” </p>
<p>“Nevertheless, it does explain Legolas Thranduilion’s illness.”</p>
<p>Gandalf turned to Lord Elrond curiously. “Does it? They can have had no contact. I find it hard to believe that whatever Gimli has done in the Blue Mountains and along the track of this quest can have affected the elves of Mirkwood so quickly.” </p>
<p>“That is because you have not seen the symptoms,” Lord Elrond mused. “I should have diagnosed the illness at once, if I considered such a possibility as the Musician’s Path. Yet how to save the one without dooming the other? As you say, for a traveler on Lindalë Maitar Mentië to fight for their former life only ever causes madness, heartbreak, or death.” </p>
<p>“Doom me,” Gimli said at once. “I care not. If I have brought this malady down upon Legolas, then the choice is obvious, and mine to make.” </p>
<p>When Lord Elrond looked at Gimli then, there was deep compassion in his eyes. “You are very young for one of your folk, are you not? Too young, I think, to have children or own property unless orphaned.” </p>
<p>Gimli blushed. “That I lack a beard has no bearing on my heart or my courage. I am old enough to choose my own path, and to give my life for his if that is needed.” </p>
<p>Lord Elrond gave a wan smile to this display of bravado. “The question is an honest one, and important. Were you older when you first met Legolas on the other path?” </p>
<p>“Yes,” Gimli said. The memory was distant, but there. Trying to see it was like peering through a deep fog. “Older, yes, though he is always unchanged. Saving the way he looks at me. How he sneered! But we were here. In Rivendell. I came with my father to warn Master Baggins about. About something. A messenger that wanted him. Why would my father be the one to travel with the news when I know Master Baggins best? But my father came, and I with him. I remember. I remember others. Nine in total. It was important that we total nine, but why?”</p>
<p>“Gimli!” </p>
<p>Gandalf’s voice was a dire enough warning that the dwarf stopped talking. But he did not look to the wizard. Instead, he cast his eyes to Lord Elrond. If the healer needed information to save Legolas, Gimli would give it. No matter the consequences. </p>
<p>Nodding slowly, Lord Elrond said, “It is a great good that dwarves are so slow to change. What you have told me is enough to make sense of Legolas’s malady. In fact, I shall be able to cure him readily.” </p>
<p>“Really?” Gandalf looked tremendously skeptical, but Gimli felt hope swell within him. </p>
<p>“Of course,” Lord Elrond said. “As you would realize if you took even a moment to consider what you know of the elven spirit.” </p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Gimli asked.</p>
<p>He received no answer. Instead, Gandalf stared at him with wide eyes. Slumping back in his chair, the wizard continued to gaze at Gimli as he repeated, “Really.” </p>
<p>Gimli turned back to Lord Elrond. “What can be done for Legolas?” he demanded. </p>
<p>“Much,” the elf said evenly, “now that I understand the situation. Come with me, and we will see to it at once. I gave him a draught of a most powerful elixir. Even that only gives him some rest, and I administered it some time ago. It should wear off within the hour. Come. Your assistance will be invaluable.” So saying, the great healer rose from his seat and swept Gimli out into the hall. Leaving Gandalf behind, the dwarf followed eagerly. </p>
<p>The halls of Rivendell were full of light and beauty, especially at sunset. In many places, they passed through unwalled pillars with spectacular vistas and hanging gardens full of flowering vines. Yet Gimli saw none of it, climbing marble stairs and striding over tiled floors without the slightest appreciation. </p>
<p>Finally, Lord Elrond opened the door to Legolas’s sickroom. It was a lovely room. Fit for a prince. Sumptuous silk covered the large bed, gauzy curtains wafted in the warm spring breeze, and a cheerful blaze lit the room from an ornate fireplace. There was even a bookshelf along one wall, full of poetry and novels to entertain a convalescent. Gimli could not move from the doorway, only stare. </p>
<p>Legolas was so very still. His gaunt, pale face was as immobile as a corpse. In all of Gimli’s memories, the elf was always thin, but lying upon the blue silk linens he looked nearly skeletal. Neither breath nor movement dispelled the illusion of a death-like state. </p>
<p>“Come,” Lord Elrond beckoned again. “You will do him no good standing in the doorway.”</p>
<p>“What good can I do one such as he, hovering even now at the door of death?” Gimli’s voice was too light for gravel, as insubstantial as sand, but he stepped forward.</p>
<p>Rather than showing proper sympathy for his patient, Lord Elrond smiled with clear amusement. “Your presence will do good enough, Gimli son of Gloin. Fear not.” </p>
<p>“How can my presence aid him? He does not know me. If he dies here, he will never know me.” </p>
<p>Elrond’s smile fell away. “I do not say he will not die of this malady, for other elves have died of it, and Legolas may one day do the same. But it is not an uncommon affliction. I once suffered it myself, and with the aid of my daughter and sons recovered fully. He can be treated. When he wakes, he will eat. His mind will settle enough that he will once again be able to reflect and refresh himself in the evenings. He will live.” </p>
<p>“How can we bring about this miracle? Tell me what must be done, and I will do it. Surely it is not just that we should stand here and disturb him with our talking.” </p>
<p>Elrond hesitated. “It is enough. There will come a time when you forget your reasons for wanting to give Legolas aid. I would not ask of you now things that you may regret then.” </p>
<p>“I care not! Ask it. I beg you, only ask.” </p>
<p>“Aid me, then.” Looking slowly about the room, Elrond seized upon some small stones that Gimli thought were only decoration. “Here, place these crystals evenly around the bed. Even a hairsbreadth can make a difference, so take care.” </p>
<p>Instantly, Gimli was there. Dwarves could estimate such symmetry by eye, of course, but he took great pains with the measure Lord Elrond gave him, placing the rocks perfectly while Elrond mixed some poultice at the small table in one corner of the room. </p>
<p>“Do you sing, Master Gimli?” the Lord of Rivendell asked.</p>
<p>“What?” Looking up in astonishment from his careful placement of the stones, Gimli barely understood the question. </p>
<p>“This would go—more smoothly if you sang. If you do not, perhaps you might run and fetch another elf of my household.” Lord Elrond frowned. “Although time is a factor.” The bowl in his hand began to emit a strange purple smoke. </p>
<p>At once, Gimli sang. Watching Legolas lie there, deathly pale, Gimli sang of Durin, the father of his people, who would one day wake again from the sleep of death to walk the world.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>When Durin woke, he walked alone<br/>
In mountain halls where mithril shone<br/>
When light from sun and moon and star<br/>
Caught in his lamps the dark to bar</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>That shining crystal fair and bright<br/>
From under stone did banish night<br/>
Undimmed by shadow, cloud, or mist<br/>
To this day those lights persist</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>For though he woke and walked alone<br/>
Another sat beside his throne<br/>
Upon silver dias in his hall<br/>
Twixt carven pillars ere the fall</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>Her beard was braided silver-gold<br/>
Runes of power her hand did hold<br/>
Forge’s hammer, ax, and sword<br/>
Most of all the harp’s sweet chord</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>When the mountain music woke<br/>
Then danced and sang all Durin’s folk<br/>
Trilled the flute, beat the drum<br/>
Like bells on anvils hammers rung</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>Yet all songs end and all lights dim<br/>
Durin’s Bane loomed dark and grim<br/>
In silent mountains, grey and old<br/>
Where barren forge sits stoney-cold</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>Let not sorrows long gone bye<br/>
Keep us now from star and sky<br/>
Durin and his bride might sleep<br/>
All his folk must mourn and weep</p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>But night will end and dawn will break<br/>
When comes that light all sleepers wake<br/>
To walk again, now unafraid<br/>
With new songs in a world remade</p>
</div>Slowly, stanza by stanza, Legolas’s eyes began to flutter and open. When he woke fully, he did not move or rise. Instead, his head turned toward Gimli, and he listened until the end of the song.<p>“A dwarf?” Legolas’s voice was heavy with sleep, but he did not sound as ill as he looked. There was a musical quality to his words that almost flowed from the last echo of Gimli’s song. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Lord Elrond said. “Gimli son of Gloin, this is Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of the Greenwood.”</p>
<p>Bowing, Gimli offered his service as casually as he could. At least he did not cast himself at the foot of the bed and swear his undying love or anything truly foolish.</p>
<p>Legolas sat up. “A dwarf,” he repeated, looking down at his white robes and too-thin hands. </p>
<p>“I apologize if my presence offends,” Gimli said, as eloquently as he could manage in the face of such a clear rejection. “I am only here to help you get well. Lord Elrond, is there ought else that I can do?” </p>
<p>“No, Gimli, you may go.” Lord Elrond turned to smile at the young dwarf. “I believe all will be well now. Return to your company, your kin, and your rest.” </p>
<p>“I thank you.” For want of anything better to do, Gimli bowed again to both elves. “Fare thee well, Legolas Greenleaf. May your strength return, your dreams be warm, and your heart be light once more. If ever I can aid you in that pursuit, call upon me. I will answer.” </p>
<p>Legolas did not answer. He did not even look at Gimli. Of course he had no eyes for a beardless whelp, nor any heart to befriend one of Durin’s Folk without the fiery crucible of their many adventures. Instead, the elf continued to stare down at his hands. One last time, before the door closed behind him Gimli heard him murmur, “a dwarf.” </p>
<p>Clearly, Legolas was unwell in his mind. To go without sleep or rest for so many days might drive a person mad. Even after the malady itself was cured, Legolas might not overcome all of the many complications of such an affliction. He was receiving the best possible care, but still Gimli worried. Although he had every faith in Lord Elrond’s healing skill, it was the young dwarf who did not sleep well that night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Of Moonflowers and Runes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bilbo Baggins was the kindest of hobbits. When he saw how lost to worry Gimli was, he spent the entire day dragging the young dwarf about, forcing him to do things. They went from meals to gardens to poetry readings and then to more meals. The hobbit made an excellent guide. Every amusement that Rivendell had to offer, Bilbo already seemed to know about. Moreover, he quite obviously selected the ones that he thought Gimli would enjoy the most. By midday, Gimli was smiling again. By night in the Hall of Fire, he was positively enamored with the elven music. </p>
<p>Many things have been said in other places about all the wonders of the House of Elrond. So many games and sweets and flowers are found only there and nowhere else. All of these were duly appreciated by Gimli and Bilbo. While the other dwarves scoffed and played their own music, Gimli listened to everything. When Bombur got out a string of sausages for the Company to have a little meat around a fire of their own, Gimli had one, of course. But he also thought some of the elvish pastries were positively delicious, and he did not scruple to say so. In fact, he thought the other dwarves were missing out by refusing to enjoy the place properly. </p>
<p>Saying that to his cousins might have been a mistake. Fili and Kili followed his adventures with Bilbo thereafter, mocking every amusement one by one. They only stopped when Gimli took them to a courtyard and taught them some manners with his fists. </p>
<p>Long used to fighting together, Fili and Kili had the advantage. They also outweighed him. Gimli caught more than a few bruises from their fists, but when he wrestled Kili to the ground in a headlock, he also got his apology. Laughing, Fili offered up an apology of his own, and admitted that while all of the elven music was extremely dull, he did like some of the food and the big fountaining baths. That was something all three could agree on, and they went to play in the big bath near their rooms. </p>
<p>For some reason, Bilbo refused to join in the communal baths. He insisted on using the little tub in his room. Gimli supposed it was warmer than the open air, but the weather in Rivendell was so mild and summery that such a thing could hardly be a serious concern. The hobbit claimed it was a matter of manners and custom, even going so far as to recommend that Gimli do the same. It was the only recommendation of his that Gimli ignored. </p>
<p>Later that evening, when Bilbo slipped off somewhere following King Thorin, Gimli found himself walking alone in a garden lit by glowing insects and the luminous moon. </p>
<p>Behind him, something shifted in the shadows. Realizing he was not alone, Gimli felt no fear. All were safe in the House of Elrond. Even so, he turned to face the shadow. “Care to walk with me, instead of spying?”</p>
<p>The shadows resolved into Legolas. He no longer wore the glistening white nightshirt that made him look so deathly, but the moonlight shone silver upon terribly pale skin. And he remained far too thin. He stared at Gimli, looking ghostly and ethereal despite being dressed in the brown robes worn by many others in Rivendell. He did not speak. </p>
<p>“Well, it is good to see you up and about at least,” Gimli said. “Please accept my best wishes for your recovering health.”</p>
<p>Legolas made no answer to this speech, only continued to stare unblinking at Gimli. Once again, it occurred to the dwarf that perhaps the illness had some lingering effect. Some said that a bad fever could boil the brain, and that the person would forever after live in a haze of confusion. That sort of thing usually only happened to very old dwarves, though. Gimli had never heard of such an affliction in an elf. </p>
<p>“Do you know the name of these white blossoms?” he asked, desperate for anything that would make Legolas speak. “They were not open this afternoon, when Mister Baggins and I walked through this garden.” </p>
<p>“Moonflower.” Legolas looked down at the beautiful carpet of white flowers, almost glowing in the light, then stepped forward to join Gimli on the path. “They bloom only at night, to look at the stars of Elbereth Gilthoniel, and they will close again when the sun rises.” </p>
<p>“How interesting.” Falling into step with Legolas was the easiest thing in the world. “I always thought flowers preferred the sunlight.” </p>
<p>Legolas laughed, but it was a flat, humorless sound. “Perhaps the wiser flowers do. Yet the moonflower cannot help its nature, and blooms when it must, or dies without blossoming.” </p>
<p>“Cheerful fellow, aren’t you?” Gimli looked sideways at Legolas’s thin cheeks and gaunt figure. </p>
<p>“Should I be cheerful?” Legolas stopped walking and looked squarely at Gimli. This was no unearthly stare, but a direct challenge. “What cause have I for cheer?” </p>
<p>Gimli blinked. “Well, your fever broke, and Lord Elrond said there was no more cause for fear. So that’s good. You can go home. Or stay here, I suppose. There’s great, sliding waterfalls in the baths, you know. That’s plenty of cause for cheer. Join us tomorrow! No one can be gloomy when sliding down one of those.” </p>
<p>The elf’s face was entirely blank. “Bathe with you? That is what you suggest?” </p>
<p>Something about his tone of voice made Gimli blush furiously, his whole face going hot. “Aye, and my cousins. I’ll tell them you’ve been sick, though. They won’t give you a hard time.” </p>
<p>Legolas started walking again. “You fight well,” he said. “I saw the three of you in the courtyard.” </p>
<p>“Oh, aye.” Gimli fell into step easily, letting the breeze cool his cheeks and appreciating the fireflies so that he would not have to look at his companion. “We’re well practiced at fighting one another. Not much else to do for entertainment in the Blue Mountains.” </p>
<p>“Do dwarves entertain themselves with blood sport, then?” Legolas sniffed and looked up at the stars.</p>
<p>Gimli hid a smirk. “I understand no elf would ever take joy in hunting or fighting,” he said, knowing well that they were Legolas’s favorite pastimes. </p>
<p>Indeed, the elf looked down at him and very nearly smiled. “What brings dwarves from the Blue Mountains so far north? You are not merchants, for you have no caravan, and rumor tells that you intend to continue west over the Misty Mountains.” </p>
<p>Then, it was Gimli’s turn to falter. His heart forbade lying to Legolas, yet the elves of Mirkwood were the enemies of Durin’s Folk. To answer that question would be to betray the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Instead of doing either, he said, “For my part, I am simply leaving the Blue Mountains. Tis a wide world in which we live, and I had seen none of it but a coal mine. Now I have seen the Shire of the Hobbits, a troll encampment, Rivendell, and all the lands between. I count my time very well spent.” </p>
<p>Elven eyes glittered in the starlight. “Would you know more?” Legolas asked. “The leader of your company meets in secret with Elrond and Mithrandir even now. Shall we overhear their council?” </p>
<p>Gimli blinked. Of course they should not. A dwarf of honor would never spy upon his own king. More than that, a dwarf of Durin’s Folk would keep an elf of Mirkwood from any such secrets even at the cost of his own life. </p>
<p>Legolas smiled.</p>
<p>Gimli grinned. The promise of sharing an adventure with his dearest friend was too sweet a temptation to refuse. “Aye, all right. But don’t tell anyone!” </p>
<p>Laughter which Gimli had not heard in far too long rang out, too bright and happy for the solemnity of the elven garden. “Then follow me, if you can,” Legolas said, springing away at great speed.</p>
<p>Gimli gave chase eagerly, through the gardens, over fences, under pines, and up long stairs until they reached a place where Legolas stopped. </p>
<p>“We must be quiet from this point forward,” the elf cautioned. </p>
<p>Gasping for air, Gimli nodded. He was considered very fast among dwarves, but a long legged elf had natural advantages in that area. If you have ever been very out of breath while wearing chainmail, you will know that Legolas also had many advantages when it came to creeping silently along a ledge. Several times Gimli coughed or clinked too loudly, and Legolas would stop to glare at him before proceeding. </p>
<p>Finally reaching the edge of the overlook, Gimli saw the place where kings received counsel. It was a beautiful vista. Moonlight alone illuminated the little stone table, but it reflected off the waterfalls and the marble to such an extent that the figures below were as clear as day. King Thorin stood proudly with Gandalf, Balin, and Bilbo at his side. Lord Elrond held some sort of paper up to the sky. </p>
<p>“Moon Runes,” he declared, and Gimli knew it was the map. “These can be read only under a crescent moon at midsummer. The timing of your visit is fortuitous. What did you say your interest in this map was?” </p>
<p>Far below, Gandalf looked perfectly innocent. Gimli wondered if that complexion showed any difference to Lord Elrond, who had known the wizard for so long. “Purely academic.”</p>
<p>Casting a furtive glance at Legolas, Gimli saw that the elf was not watching what transpired below. Instead, Gimli seemed to have his full attention. It was strange to be stared at in such a way, like he was rough ore and Legolas was trying to determine if he had any value. The need for silence as they spied meant Gimli could not ask, but neither could he break with Legolas’s gaze. Behind him and below, Lord Elrond spoke of knocking thrushes when the last light of Durin’s Day would shine upon a keyhole. These were important, weighty matters that Gimli would like to know about, but the moonlight reflected in Legolas’s elf eyes mesmerized him, and he could not look away. Finally, the elf cast his eyes down toward the gathering below once more, and Gimli was free. </p>
<p>Bilbo, Thorin, and Balin were leaving, though Gandalf and Elrond remained behind for a few moments to discuss the wisdom of the quest. Apparently, Elrond doubted King Thorin. A strain of madness ran in the line of Durin, and Elrond thought King Thorin would fall to it. Gimli felt his heart turn to steel. Elves called dwarves secretive, and then gossiped like old miners behind their backs. </p>
<p>Gimli glared down at the moonlit patio for long after the elf and wizard walked away. </p>
<p>“I hear them no longer,” Legolas said. “We are safe to move.” </p>
<p>Collecting himself, Gimli stood up, straightened his armor, and followed the elf he could trust down off the ledge. </p>
<p>“Did you know?” Legolas asked. </p>
<p>“That an elf I thought was wise and kind would judge my king by the faults of dwarves who died over a century ago?” Stomping down the path, Gimli trampled some of the flowers on purpose. “I will teach that elf to speak of my king with better manners. Teach him with the flat of my blade!” </p>
<p>“Hold!” Legolas moved in front of Gimli, catching him by the shoulders. “Peace.” </p>
<p>Once again, Gimli found himself looking up into the eyes of Legolas. This time, however, they were the eyes he knew better than any others in the world. Soft and compassionate, they were eyes Gimli could stare into for all the rest of his days. </p>
<p>Legolas smiled. “You cannot fight Elrond Half-Elven as you would your cousins. More, I am sure he meant no offense. Asking Gandalf for reassurance that the past would not repeat itself is no crime.” </p>
<p>Grumbling, Gimli conceded the point, and Legolas released him. They returned to the more public paths and gardens. Gimli crushed no more plants. </p>
<p>“It was not my intention to inquire about Lord Elrond,” Legolas said after a time. “I ask if you knew the truth of your quest. Did you know your king leads you into the maw of a dragon?” </p>
<p>Gimli shrugged. “I would follow my king into the teeth of such a trial, but it will not be so. My uncle has read the signs, and he thinks the dragon is probably dead.” </p>
<p>Hesitating for only a moment, Legolas said, “A wyrm such as Smaug the Terrible can sleep long, especially after the meal he ate in taking the Lonely Mountain. Perhaps the signs your uncle read mean sleep as deep as death.” </p>
<p>Admitting this might be so was easy enough. Gimli was not afraid to say he did not know the future. “That is our true plan, you know,” he added. “We will probably find the dragon dead, but King Thorin’s goal is to retrieve from the treasure that which allows him to unite the seven clans as high king. With the might of the dwarves, if Smaug is not dead now, he will be.” </p>
<p>This news did not ease the trouble from the elf’s face. Once again, it occurred to Gimli that Legolas was not the husband guarded by his memory as so many other things disappeared, but a relative stranger. More than a stranger, he was an elf of Mirkwood and an enemy to Durin’s Folk. Instead of dwelling on that fact, however, Gimli reached out and took his hand. It might be the only opportunity he ever had to do so.</p>
<p>Startled, Legolas leapt backward. Clutching his hand to his chest as though the touch of a dwarf burned or profaned it in some way, the elf stared. Gimli blushed.</p>
<p>“I meant no offense,” he said.</p>
<p>Legolas said nothing, merely stared with wide, almost frightened eyes.</p>
<p>Bowing stiffly, the young dwarf apologised in the best language he could muster. When this had no effect, he said, “The hour grows late. I will take my leave and bid you goodnight.” </p>
<p>Legolas made no response to this, so Gimli walked away. When he reached a turning of the path, he looked back. Legolas still stood there, cradling his hand as though wounded, but he no longer stared at Gimli. Instead, he was looking down at the moonflowers, an unreadable expression on his face.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Ere Break of Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mind the tags. Discussion of child death ahead.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the end, Gimli did not have to worry long about whether Legolas was the love he now only vaguely remembered or a Mirkwood spy. The very next morning, the elf presented himself to Thorin and asked to join their quest. Surprisingly, the king did not explode with rage. He simply stood there, motionless. No dwarf moved or spoke for a long minute.</p>
<p>“Well of course you must if you care to,” Bilbo said jovially. “I do not know why Thorin is being so reticent, but I say the more the merrier!”</p>
<p>“And who are you to say anything?” King Thorin whirled on the hobbit, his face red, his eyes flashing. “I suppose you are the one who told this dûr-rugnûl elf of our quest in the first place!” </p>
<p>“No,” Gimli cried, stepping forward. “I did. We overheard your discussion with Elrond, and I explained about the map.” </p>
<p>The king stepped back, away from Bilbo, and turned to Gimli. As he did so, the ire left his face, but his expression became one of deep disappointment. “I see,” he said. “I have failed in my promise to your family, Gimli, and let you become the prey of this onad-gozok.”</p>
<p>“I am not a child!” Gimli cried, astounded by the king’s language. “Legolas did not trap me. He is my friend.” </p>
<p>“Legolas Thranduilion took advantage of your youthful inexperience to ferret secrets from you which no loyal dwarf would tell him.” </p>
<p>Stung, Gimli drew back. “I am loyal to you, my king. Legolas is a valiant warrior who sees the righteousness of our cause. He wants to join our quest and help us reclaim our homeland!” </p>
<p>King Thorin’s mouth set in a firm line. “Is that so?” Turning to the rest of the Company, he asked, “Think you all the same? Will anyone else speak in favor of this elf?”</p>
<p>For a moment, Gimli thought Bilbo Baggins would step forward again. Then Uncle Oin stepped up. The grizzled old healer had more grey in his beard than any member of the Company save Balin, and so common opinion held that he had more wisdom in his words than any save Gandalf. Gimli’s heart rose. Having Uncle Oin on his side was a great reassurance. Given his experience, he had the respect of the other dwarves.</p>
<p>Then, Oin spoke. “I will not travel with the elf.”</p>
<p>“What?” Gimli stared at his uncle. Obviously, his uncle had not heard the whole of the conversation. “Uncle Oin, have you forgotten your ear horn?”</p>
<p>“I need it not.” Oin looked from Gimli to Legolas. “I have heard all I ever care to hear from this elf.” </p>
<p>King Thorin’s face was as still as stone. “This elf here?” he asked. “You have spoken to him before?” </p>
<p>Staring at Legolas with unveiled hatred, Oin said, “Aye. Never will I forget his face.” </p>
<p>Legolas said nothing, but Gimli saw no light of recognition in his eyes. </p>
<p>“It is known to many here that Gimli was not my brother’s firstborn.” </p>
<p>Gimli stared at his uncle. That fact was not known to him. He had a sibling? Neither of his parents ever mentioned one. With slight apology, Oin looked down at the stone beneath his boots. </p>
<p>“It pains me to speak of that time, just as it pains your parents no doubt, but you’ve a right to know. Indeed, all must know now, so this elf cannot deceive us. Groli was a beauty, just like her mother. She’d have had the Firebeard coloring. I could tell just by looking at her. All she ever grew was that little down tuft given to a babe new born, but it was red. Oh, it would have been such a flame one day. She was almost a year old, when the dragon came.” </p>
<p>Off to the side, Bilbo made a short, sharp sound of horror. Gimli could not turn to look at him. In all the world, there was only his uncle, and a story about a family member he did not know. But suddenly it seemed that Oin could not speak further. He did not lift his eyes from the ground. </p>
<p>“I remember her well,” King Thorin said. “A beauty, as you say. Gloin carried her from the mountain himself; she was his greatest treasure. Perhaps the most worthy jewel saved that day, for when we all sat weeping in the desolation, soot covered, bleeding, and broken, I heard her laugh. I knew then that our people had a future beyond the dragon’s wrath.”</p>
<p>“Not for Groli.” Tears filled Uncle Oin’s eyes. “There was no future for Groli.”</p>
<p>“No,” King Thorin agreed. The stone mien was gone from his face, and it was clear that he mourned with Gimli’s family, as Gimli himself had not known to mourn. </p>
<p>Straightening his spine, Uncle Oin looked again at Legolas with a fierce hatred. “With little food, less fresh water, and a hard road through the open air, it was not long before Groli took ill. All that my brother and I had, we gave to her. We ate and drank nothing ourselves. All went to the babe and the nursing mother, but it was not enough. She did not improve. Every night she wailed and wept. Every day her fever grew worse. My sister did not rest or sleep, but sang to little Groli every song she knew. My brother cradled her in his arms and begged our Maker to show mercy. It was beyond endurance. Groli needed medicine, but there was none to be had along that barren road. After all, we were forbidden to pass beneath the eaves of Mirkwood.” </p>
<p>Legolas did not react to this, or try to defend himself. Silently, he listened. </p>
<p>“I am a healer. I could not let my niece suffer so when a little willow bark might save her life. So I went into the forest. That was when I met this elf. He was at the head of a band of archers, and he told me that if I did not turn back, I would be killed.” </p>
<p>King Thorin turned to Legolas. “Do you deny it?” </p>
<p>Legolas shrugged. As though the pain Uncle Oin spoke of was a trifling matter. “I do not remember it,” he said. “But I admit the possibility. My king gave orders that no dwarves were to pass into the forest, and I was among those charged with patrolling the border as the refugees went by.” </p>
<p>“He does not remember it!” Uncle Oin cried. “He does not recall me falling to my knees, begging for a pinch of willow bark to save a dying baby.” </p>
<p>“There were many dwarves who tried to enter the Greenwood in those days. All were turned away,” Legolas said. These callous words he drove like a spike into Gimli’s head, splitting the young dwarf open and filling him with pain. </p>
<p>“Did all offer you gold? I had a few treasures on my person when I fled Erebor, and I presented them to you. Everything of value left to me, in exchange for enough willow bark to fend off a single fever. And believe me when I say what I offered had value to an elven eye. Because your comrade took the mithril chain given to me by my mother when I achieved mastery in my chosen craft. How I rejoiced when he called it pretty! Fool that I was, I thought we had a bargain. Then you told me again that I would have to leave the forest with nothing.” </p>
<p>Recognition sparked in the elf’s eye then. “Yes,” he said vaguely, seeming to drift backward in his own mind. “Yes, you attacked Eolas when he would not give it back.” </p>
<p>“Of course I attacked him! I would have given my life for that little babe.” Uncle Oin wept openly. “We buried her two days later, under stone. The road we walked had stone, at least, though it had nothing else.” </p>
<p>“She is with Mahal then,” Balin said softly, placing a gentle hand upon his arm. “She rests beside his forge to wait, and will join us once more when the time comes to remake the world.” </p>
<p>Uncle Oin sobbed brokenly and collapsed against Balin, who clutched him fiercely. The pain that must have been suffered by all of his family, long before he was born, washed over Gimli, threatening to carry him away. He could not bear it. </p>
<p>“I obeyed the orders of my king,” said the elf. </p>
<p>A solid weight filled Gimli’s hands, giving him something to hold on to, unmoored as he was with the revelation of this new truth. Firm purpose burned away the turmoil in his heart. Gimli moved. However, instead of burying itself in elf-flesh, his ax clashed against Orcrist. Through the haze of his rage, he saw the blue eyes of his king. They were full of the same tears that threatened to overcome Gimli. </p>
<p>“You swore to Lord Elrond that you would not kill him in this place,” King Thorin said softly. “A dwarf does not break his word of honor.” </p>
<p>Swallowing, Gimli nodded once, shakily. He could not speak. Stepping back, he put away his ax. </p>
<p>“That restriction will apply in no place but Rivendell.” King Thorin turned to face the elf, but Gimli did not look up. He did not want to see the foul thing’s face. “So follow us on the road, if you care to, son of Thranduil. Meet us in Mirkwood at the head of your father’s army, if you dare to. One day soon, our people will no longer be homeless and penniless. On that day, a reckoning will come.” </p>
<p>When the elf spoke, Gimli wished he could stop up his ears so that he would not have to hear its lying voice. “Eolas should not have kept the chain,” it said. “I am sorry for much, now that I have met you, but I was sorry for that before this day. Despoiling those who had lost everything else was wrong.” </p>
<p>That was wrong. Letting a child die was not wrong, but taking a trifling memento, that was wrong. Truly, elves did not value life as dwarves did. Elves did not value anything. </p>
<p>“Mister Legolas,” Bilbo said, “I think perhaps you better go.” </p>
<p>Wordlessly, the elf turned and left. Gimli spit at its back. Doing that seemed more productive than crying. In truth, both of those reactions were unworthy of him. Gimli knew what he needed to do. </p>
<p>Drawing his ax once more, the young dwarf held it out and knelt before his king. “My liege,” he said, “By betraying you and aiding our enemy, I may have doomed this quest. I have no beard to cut in shame. In lieu, I beg you to tell me how to make amends: my blood, my hands, and my life are yours.”</p>
<p>“Rise,” King Thorin commanded, gripping Gimli’s shoulder. “As you say, you have no beard to cut, and so your penance must be something greater than blood. You have not spoken to an elf before coming to this place, I think?” </p>
<p>“No.” Gimli’s hands tightened on the heft of his ax as he rose to his feet. “My father does not do business with them. I have seen them passing through Lune sometimes, but I have never had occasion to speak with one.” </p>
<p>“Then you will not have had occasion to take these words to heart, words that your father and mother will have told you many times. You must do so now, Gimli, and that will be your penance. I tell you: never trust an elf. To them, we will always be the Naugrim, the unwanted. Elves that care for birds and flowers and all the animals of the forest will never care for our people. Always they will lie to us, betray us, and steal from us if they can. For we are nothing to them. In a sense, we cannot be lied to or stolen from, because we are not part of their maker’s plan. We are not people. We have no hearts to break.” </p>
<p>King Thorin’s eyes were as gentle as a summer sky. In them, Gimli saw that he was already forgiven for his misstep, and he vowed to never make another. What the king told him was nothing new, nothing he did not already know. Only his naivete allowed the elf to take such advantage of him. It was a mistake he would not make again. </p>
<p>“I say, that’s taking it a bit far, isn’t it?” Bilbo’s voice was like the splash of cold water that burst through a dream. </p>
<p>At once, many dwarves of the company rounded upon him, bristling with fruitless anger. </p>
<p>“Let him speak.” King Thorin held up a hand. “Well, hobbit? What do you know of the long war between elves and dwarves that I do not?”</p>
<p>Bilbo looked uncomfortable, but he faced the king bravely and spoke. “It seems to me that you can’t judge every elf in the world by the actions of a few. Don’t get me wrong, this Legolas fellow is clearly a bad egg. A rotten one, in point of fact. That said, Lord Elrond has been hospitality itself. He has fed us, housed us, and helped us. You cannot say he has behaved in an untrustworthy way.”</p>
<p>Shaking his head, King Thorin dismissed this. “You are as naïve as Gimli. Elrond gave welcome to the wizard, not to us. It is for Gandalf’s friendship that he aids us, and for that reason alone. Or do you forget what he made us promise before allowing us into his home?” </p>
<p>The hobbit frowned. “That is because Legolas was here, and he is your enemy. You cannot say Lord Elrond was wrong to worry, given all that has happened.” </p>
<p>“His worry was for the snake in the grass, not for those of our company who might be mislead! I tell you, he cares nothing for us beyond our part in the wizard’s agenda. And make no mistake, the wizard has an agenda.” </p>
<p>As if summoned by the conversation, Gandalf appeared suddenly, hurrying up the stairs to join the Company. </p>
<p>“You must leave now, and hurry,” the wizard said. </p>
<p>At once, the dwarves began shoving things into their packs. Gimli joined in. Most of his own travelling gear was already neatly stowed, but a number of Bilbo’s things were strewn about the place and Bilbo wasn’t moving. </p>
<p>“Whatever do you mean?” the hobbit asked. </p>
<p>“There are those here who would delay your quest, or halt it entirely if they could. I will distract them, but you must go now. I will meet you in the mountain pass.” </p>
<p>King Thorin looked hard at the wizard. “Who interferes?” </p>
<p>“The head of my order, Saruman the White. Just trust me and go. He is too conservative to give chase if you pass beyond his reach.” </p>
<p>“Trust you?” King Thorin scowled. “Never.” </p>
<p>Gandalf frowned at this, as well he might. He had been nothing but helpful through their entire journey. Still, Gimli now understood that King Thorin knew much that a young dwarf did not. Likely, the wizard was untrustworthy, if King Thorin said it was so. </p>
<p>“Then wait here and see what happens,” Gandalf said mildly. “I cannot force your hand, of course.” </p>
<p>The pair locked eyes with one another for a long moment. Then King Thorin growled, and turned away. “I will be glad to leave this foul place,” he said. “Five minutes!” </p>
<p>The Company was ready to go in three.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ooof. Sorry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Over Misty Mountains Cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Born in the land of Lune, Gimli thought himself well used to mountains. Every day of his short life was spent either on them or under them. He was a miner and a climber, as was every dwarf to a greater or lesser extent. Beneath his boots, the steep paths of the Blue Mountains were no more arduous than the rolling hills of the Shire; he thought of great ranges not as a challenge to summit, but welcome and familiar terrain. </p>
<p>How the Misty Mountains disillusioned him! </p>
<p>Not even greyberry bushes grew upon the slopes of the Misty Mountains. The scrub that clung to life along those sheer grey cliff faces bore neither flower nor fruit, but plenty of thorns. Other than a few such lonely scrubs, he saw moss, lichen, and stone. Great stone boulders, sliding gravel, and twisting, treacherous paths made up the vast majority of the landscape. So it was that even to a dwarven eye, the way up those mountains soon became uncertain. They would climb some path for nearly an hour before realizing it was a trick and backtracking to the real trail. More than once, King Thorin scowled and sighed in a manner that was more vehement than Bifur’s very vocal curses. </p>
<p>For days upon days they traveled in this way, and Gimli wondered if the wizard would ever catch up with them. “He is meant to be our guide, is he not? What coin has he been promised? He’s earning none from my purse by leaving us wandering in this way!” </p>
<p>Kili’s laugh brightened even the grey, dreary day. </p>
<p>“You sound exactly like your father,” Fili said. </p>
<p>Gimli caught one foot behind his cousin’s ankle, shoving him into a boulder. “I thank you for the compliment.” </p>
<p>“He’s saying you’re stingy.” Pouncing, Kili caught him about the neck, clearly trying to wrestle him down into a headlock, but Gimli’s star-helm protected that vulnerable place too well. The younger dwarf twisted deftly, flipping Kili over his shoulder and slamming him down into the gravel. </p>
<p>Kili laughed, kicking up to catch Gimli squarely in the stomach. All the air rushed from his lungs, leaving him breathless and bent for Fili to tackle from behind. He slammed down into the stone beside his cousin, chips of hard slate cutting at his beardless cheeks. As the gravel beneath him cascaded backward like an avalanche in miniature, it further struck and tripped up the hobbit behind them. Sliding and scowling and trying not to fall, Bilbo Baggins scoffed unhappily. “I was under the impression that I was traveling with dwarven warriors, not children on their first outing!” </p>
<p>These words did not improve Gimli’s temper as he elbowed Fili away and pushed himself off the dusty path. “If you do not like our company, return to Rivendell! There you may be blinded and deceived by elvish beauty for all the days of your life, never knowing a word of truth or a moment of hardship.” </p>
<p>Before the hobbit could answer him, Gimli stomped ahead, shoving past Fili, Nori, and even Bifur to walk beside Balin. Balin was always sensible, and never irritating. They spoke of mining and mountains, occasionally advising King Thorin when the path split. It was a great honor to be so consulted. Even when their chosen way proved yet another false path, Gimli found the frustration more bearable for having his voice heard in the choosing. </p>
<p>Yet some things were beyond even the choice of kings. </p>
<p>All days in the Misty Mountains were grey and overcast, but one morning the clouds loomed overhead like iron anvils. When they broke with intermittent rainfall, it was a punishing assault. This was no slowly building mist, nor the warm, fat splashes which watered the lands to the west. Each droplet cut like an elvish rapier, only to leave a dwarf marching for minutes in peace before the invisible foe lashed him again. </p>
<p>After such a painful start, the storm only grew worse. Soon enough the little striking rain became full sheets, thundering down the mountainside like a waterfall. All the dwarves drew up the hoods on their oil cloaks, but even so, it was a miserable march. Then, through the grey curtain draping the world, Gimli saw movement. </p>
<p>For a long moment, he could not countenance what he saw. Moving through what should have been empty air, too high above the valley below, dark shape was either impossibly large or incredibly close. When he squinted to peer through the driving rain, Gimli saw that it was both, and he gasped, backing a few steps into the solid rock behind him. </p>
<p>“A stone giant!” Fili cried. “I thought them a myth!” </p>
<p>Lightning flashed, illuminating the stratified texture of the giant’s skin. Though it was obviously a living creature with two arms, two legs, and some internal motivation, the giant looked very much like a great pile of rocks. A great pile of rocks which stooped to lift a boulder so large twenty dwarves working together would still need a block and tackle to raise it an inch off the ground. A great pile of rocks which lofted that boulder toward the mountainside. Toward Gimli. </p>
<p>He could only stare at the massive boulder as it arced through the air, as graceful and deadly as any elvish arrow. Frozen as he was, only luck saved his life as the rock struck the mountain high above the Company. Then he was pressed further back against the mountain as something warm covered his body. Pebbles and even larger stones clattered down like hail in the storm, and Gimli slowly recognized Dwalin’s earrings. </p>
<p>“Cousin?” </p>
<p>“Rain’s a little more substantial than the stuff we get in the Blue Mountains. Wasn’t sure your baby skin could take it.” </p>
<p>“I’m wearing more armor than you.”</p>
<p>“That won’t help much if you stare up at it like a doe awaiting a hunter’s arrow.” </p>
<p>Gimli shoved him away. The attack seemed to off balance them both. Dwalin staggered up the path as Gimli stumbled backward into the mountain side. More pebbles clinked against his helmet, which rang like a chorus of little bells. Balin and Bilbo were tripping nearby. Looking from them to the king, Gimli saw Thorin Oakenshield standing firm as all the world moved around him. The very ground beneath their feet shifted. </p>
<p>“This way!” called the king, sprinting up the path. Following, Gimli reached the break in the earth just as the stone beneath him rose several feet in the air. Without hesitation, the young dwarf threw himself after his king. As he slammed into the ground with enough force to rattle all his bones, Balin’s warm hands caught him, steadied him, and clapped him on the back. </p>
<p>“Well done, lad.” </p>
<p>Emboldened by the praise, Gimli turned to look back. What had been a rocky mountain slope rose to stand tall. A great stone giant strode forth with no concern at all for any dwarves who might have been walking upon it. Gimli saw his cousins Fili and Kili fall backward, unable to reach Thorin and instead taking refuge on the portion of the path back behind where the giant rested. Where the enormous creature had been was now a deep crack, which would be treacherous enough on a bright sunny day and utterly impassible in the rain. In the commotion, Fili’s hood was cast down about his shoulders. His once golden hair was dark and molded to his skull by water. He shouted something impossible to hear over the thundering storm and the rumbling rock. Gimli wondered if this was the last time he would ever see his cousin. </p>
<p>Fortunately his kin on the other side of that crevasse realized their predicament long before Gimli did. As the stone giant turned toward the mountain behind it to lift a massive boulder which it clearly intended to hurl at its foe, Kili leapt. One by one the stranded dwarves followed him, bouncing onto the giant’s knee, racing across the apparently oblivious being, and hurling themselves toward the proper path. </p>
<p>Remembering himself at last, Gimli stood beside Dwalin to catch and steady each dwarf before shoving them forward out of the way of the next member of the Company making the long jump. Fili came last, with the dignity of a prince who would allow no other to take the position, though Gimli noted his brother had been first. The young dwarf couldn’t help himself. When he was quite certain that Fili was solidly on the path, Gimli caught him in a fierce hug. Then he slammed his fist into his cousin’s gut. </p>
<p>“You should have been first you great fool. You’re Thorin’s heir!” </p>
<p>Fili laughed and wheezed. “A position which earns me much respect.” </p>
<p>“Would you look at that,” Kili said. </p>
<p>Safe on steady ground, they all turned to watch the giant closest to them hurl its boulder before striding out to meet its foe. With a crack louder than the thunder, it slammed its fist into the shoulder of the other. A kick that might have leveled half of Rivendell answered the strike, and the two closed in combat, knocking each other down the mountainside, creating new slopes and valleys as they wrestled. </p>
<p>“This is no thunderstorm,” Bofur shouted, “it’s a thunder battle!” Indeed there was more rumbling from the battling giants than came from the clouds. </p>
<p>Gimli looked about at his kin to see them all watching the giants with awe. Inexperience did not color this site impressive to him alone. Even those dwarves familiar with great places and fearsome dragons were amazed. He smiled to think himself one of the Company, no different in his reaction than anyone else. Then he noticed what was missing. </p>
<p>“Where is Bilbo?” he asked. “Where is the hobbit?” </p>
<p>If he hoped that simply asking the question would lead to Bilbo popping out from behind one of the larger dwarves—Bombur perhaps—and laughing at his worry, Gimli was quickly disappointed. Everyone cast about for the hobbit, but no one saw him. They called his name into the darkness and the driving rain, but between the storm and the thunder battle, they heard no response. Finally, one came. A light, distant voice seemed to whisper “help” from below. </p>
<p>Looking over the edge, Gimli saw a shape at least thirty feet below, clinging to the slick, wet rocks. Then he saw Bilbo’s eyes flash, reflecting white lighting, as the hobbit once again shouted for aid. </p>
<p>“Who has rope?” the young dwarf asked in a panic. </p>
<p>“Don’t you?” Fili demanded.</p>
<p>“I do!” Gimli remembered, pulling his pack from under his cloak. Before he could open it, however, Thorin Oakenshield was sliding down the mountainside, hauling Bilbo up with nothing but the strength of his own arms. Balin took the hobbit as he neared the path, pulling him to safety. Thorin slipped a little then, losing his grip, but Dwalin caught him before he fell. </p>
<p>Joyful at saving his king, Dwalin lauded Thorin’s heroism. “I thought we’d lost our hobbit!” </p>
<p>King Thorin only scowled. “He’s been lost since he left home.” Which effectively silenced the words of thanks Bilbo seemed to be mustering. “Find shelter,” the king ordered Fili and Kili. “Continuing through this storm is folly.” </p>
<p>As the princes dashed off to scout ahead, Gimli sat next to Bilbo on the path, watching the thunder battle in the distance whenever the occasional flash of lightning illuminated the sky. No one spoke. Bilbo was shaking, but whether it was with cold, fear, or anger at Thorin’s dismissive words, Gimli could not know. The mountains were so vast. Usually, that did not trouble a dwarf, but there was a distinctive malevolence in the Misty Mountain range. Gimli bumped his shoulder against the hobbit’s. </p>
<p>“You’re a good lad,” said Bilbo. Perhaps he would have said more, but just then Fili and Kili returned with news of a dry cave not far ahead. It was time to move. </p>
<p>Close, the cave was, but it could not stay dry for long. Not when thirteen dwarves and one soaked hobbit were removing oil cloaks, ringing out sodden socks, and beating one another senseless for the most coveted positions close to the fire. There was not much to burn, only a little dry scrub found near the back of the cave by a great stroke of luck, and the fire was barely enough to cook a few oats, let alone dry their clothes. Nevertheless, a hot meal eased many other discomforts, and Gimli fell fast asleep long before the others even set their bedrolls, exhausted by the terror of the day. </p>
<p>Why he woke later, he could not say. Outside, only the gentle whisper of wind could be heard. No thunder boomed. No lightning crashed. No rain slapped against the rock. All was quiet. Almost too quiet. Bofur sat watch at the mouth of he cave, the red embers in the bowl of his pipe the only light against the black sky beyond. For dwarven eyes, that was light enough to make out a second figure. A shadow, smaller than any dwarf, crept past the sentinel in absolute silence. </p>
<p>“Bilbo?” Bofur asked, just as Gimli realized who the moving figure must be. “Where are you going?” </p>
<p>“Back to Rivendell. The rain has stopped, and, well, I think it’s for the best.” </p>
<p>“You can’t turn back now. The lads would miss you too much.” </p>
<p>Closing his eyes, Gimli felt two faces turn toward him in the darkness. Long practiced at feigning sleep, it should have been simple for him to keep his face blank and expressionless, but he was sure that only the darkness saved him. For although he barely knew the hobbit, the prospect of the little fellow leaving ripped a hole in Gimli’s gut. </p>
<p>Bilbo was silent for a long moment, but then he said, “I must. I’m no good to anyone out here.” </p>
<p>“You’re part of the Company,” Bofur said. “You’re one of us!” </p>
<p>“I’m not, though, am I?” snapped the hobbit. “Thorin said I never should have come, and he was right. I’m not a Took. I am a Baggins of Bag End.” </p>
<p>“You’re homesick. I understand.” </p>
<p>“No, you don’t. You don’t understand. None of you do! You’re dwarves. You’re used to this life, living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere…” </p>
<p>Gimli kept his eyes closed. To his great shame, tears welled along his lashes. It was true, of course. Life in the Blue Mountains was not really life. That were eking out a bare sufficiency that might be taken away at any moment by fellow dwarves who were not managing to subsist on what coal might be scratched from the rock and those few disgusting berries which might be gathered on the mountainside. They were not living. Had his father been less of a warrior, had Agni’s guilty gratitude not compelled him to take Gloin’s part, one of Gimli’s parents would not now be living at all. One day, even the coal would dry up, and then where would they go? What land would welcome them? Not the Shire. Not Rivendell. Not any land Gimli knew of. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” said Bilbo, very quietly. “I didn’t—” </p>
<p>“No, you’re right,” Bofur said. “We don’t belong anywhere.” </p>
<p>There was quiet for a moment, but Gimli did not trust himself to look. When Bofur spoke again, there was a smile in his voice. </p>
<p>“I wish you all the luck in the world, Bilbo Baggins. I really do.” </p>
<p>Then the floor tilted up beneath Gimli like a sinkhole and feigning sleep was no longer possible. He shouted.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Down in Goblin Town</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A rough tug brought Gimli to his feet. Six goblins circled him brandishing sharp weaponry. One of held his grandfather’s ax. Behind that loathsome thief, another goblin was tearing apart Gimli’s pack looking for valuables. It bit into some of the dried berries from his rations and immediately spit them back out. So at least it was a goblin of taste. </p>
<p>The goblin holding Gimli’s left arm tugged it again. A spear jabbed him in the side. As he turned to look where they directed, Gimli saw that all the other dwarves were similarly held. Even his king was caught, surrounded by jagged metal. Goblin weapons were crueller than those of dwarven make—with twists and curves to rip and tear at flesh—but to Gimli’s eye, they did not look brittle or easily broken. With their own weapons in the hands of the goblins, the dwarves would be foolish to take a stand. </p>
<p>“How fortunate we are that Bilbo got away!” Gimli thought, for the hobbit was nowhere to be seen. Only two goblins would be needed to restrain the little fellow, but they would have to catch him first. </p>
<p>Standing at the mouth of the cave, Bilbo could not have been snapped up in the trap with the sleeping dwarves. Nor would the goblins be looking for a fourteenth member of their party, not if Bilbo had his pack and his gear with him when he fled the cave. Clever Bilbo would run and fetch help. Gandalf must be on the road somewhere nearby. The wizard promised to catch up with them in the mountains. If not, Bilbo would run all the way to Rivendell and—no. The elves would not help. Dwarves could never look to elves for help. But Bilbo would help them. That was assured.</p>
<p>“He was already abandoning us.” The young dwarf could not help thinking it. “Bilbo Baggins is no more a dwarf than Legolas Greenleaf. Even promised a fourteenth share of the treasure hoard of Thror, he gave up on helping us. Why should he help us now, when the danger is so much greater and the promise of reward has never been less certain?” </p>
<p>Earnestly, he tried to shove those thoughts away. Focusing on the pointed tips of goblin spears proved easy enough. </p>
<p>As Gimli shoved his thoughts away, so he in turn was wrestled roughly along by his captors. The goblins sang some guttural marching tune in time with their stamping feet. Gimli did not like the words, which promised the breaking of bones, the eating of dwarves, and the rendering of their fat into candles upon final arrival in Goblin Town. Yet he was uninjured—walking under his own power—and Thorin did not seem worried. Not even when they reached the end of their long march. </p>
<p>Goblin Town was as ugly and twisted as its residents. The dwellings were simple holes scraped into rock, with little cloth or comfort to be seen. They clearly did burn tallow and torches for the walls were coated with dark soot, smelling worse than the coal of the Blue Mountains, nearly as bad as the goblins themselves. Filth seemed to be tossed anywhere—never to be cleaned—and midden lined the roads. </p>
<p>Gimli thought he saw the worst of it, witnessing two skinny goblins butchering the mangled corpse of a third in a dark alley. The twisted thing was carved up already, with bone showing all along its left side, but apparently eyeballs were considered a delicacy. Arguing over who had rights to the head, the two scrawny creatures came to blows. Passing dwarves concerned them not at all, nor did the fact that the body they butchered had once belonged to a member of their own race. The winner of the fight shoved the dead goblins eyes into his own mouth at once. Gimli looked away. He thought it was the worst sight he would ever see in all his short life. </p>
<p>He thought that until they came to the throne of the Great Goblin. </p>
<p>As tall as any troll and twice as fat, the Great Goblin was like a creature made of cancers. Hanging from his neck was a goiter the length of a dwarven beard. His teeth were jagged and broken like shattered pottery. He wore a crown of horns and upon his stick, a ram’s skull reigned. Yet it was not his visage which horrified Gimli. What shocked him so deeply was the casual way in which the massive king reached down to pluck up one of his own citizens, seemingly at random. </p>
<p>Shrieking, the little goblin tried to fight. It was a small thing, smaller even than a hobbit, and it wailed piteously as it beat against the king’s massive hand with its tiny fists. Such a minor struggle did not even phase the Great Goblin. He bit into the other goblin’s belly as casually as a hobbit might bite an apple. Chewing thoughtfully, he regarded the imprisoned dwarves and ignored the death throws of his own screaming subject. </p>
<p>“What have we here?” </p>
<p>Even more than the casual murder and cannibalism, Gimli was appalled that a king could do such a thing. He cast a sideways look at Thorin, who stood with silent dignity as the goblins poked him with spears and tugged at his hair. </p>
<p>“Found them right on our front porch,” a sniveling goblin stepped forward to say. “Blocking up the pass they were, so our hunting parties couldn’t go out. Not so much as a by your leave from any of them before trespassing, either.” </p>
<p>“Is that so?” The Great Goblin’s grin was a cruel thing. He turned it on the dwarves like a fileting knife. “Trespassing, you say. A very serious crime.” </p>
<p>Balin put himself forward and was not immediately stabbed by the goblins restraining him, though neither was he released. “Allow me to beg your pardon on behalf of our humble party, O Great Goblin. We sought only shelter from the rain. Importuning goblins was the very furthest thing from what we intended.” </p>
<p>“A likely story,” said the king. “What business do you have in these mountains? Dwarves make no dwelling places here. Not since we kicked you lot out of our mines away south all those years ago!” </p>
<p>Gimli thought he saw a twitch in the corner of Balin’s eye, but he may have imagined it. As a lad, Balin used to tell him stories of Khazad-dûm, the very first dwelling place of Durin’s folk. The mines there were full of mithril—true silver—which was beloved of Durin over all other metals. In Khazad-dûm, the diggings were some of the ancient and most wondrous in all the world. Arts used there were lost through time, but in Khazad-dûm was an Endless Stair, the secret to runes writ in ithildin—like the moon runes upon King Thorin’s map—and even the Mirrormere which was made by nature and Mahal himself to crown Durin with stars during daylight. Certainly dwarves had far more right to the Misty Mountains than goblins did, and if Balin wanted to claim that right by the Great Goblin’s head, Gimli was with him. But Balin did not move. Instead, he continued to speak humbly. </p>
<p>“We are but simple travelers, your majesty, journeying from Lune to visit our kinfolk in the Iron Hills. I assure you, we regret trespassing upon your land greatly, and are most anxious to be on our way.” </p>
<p>“You go heavily armored, for simple travelers,” the Great Goblin observed, looking pointedly at Gimli, who had been tired enough to fall asleep in his chain mail that night. </p>
<p>“Not as heavily armored as a dwarven war party,” Balin assured him. “Which I am sure a leader of your experience must know. Our armor is to protect against the elements and wild beasts, not to battle goblins.” </p>
<p>“Armored but unarmed?” The Great Goblin chortled skeptically. “I have never known a dwarf to travel so.” All the goblins joined his laughter, though whether they did so through fear or genuine amusement, Gimli could not say.</p>
<p>“Not unarmed at all.” A stooped, one eyed goblin brought forth Orcrist, the sword forged by elves in Gondolin which was so well made that King Thorin wielded it despite those origins. Surrounded by so many goblins, it glowed a bright blue, giving off as much light as a lantern in the darkness. </p>
<p>The Great Goblin let out a howl, recoiling as though from a physical blow. “Biter!” he cried. “The goblin-cleaver! No old wanderer carries such a sword. Who is your leader dwarf?” </p>
<p>Balin said nothing. For an unworthy moment, Gimli’s unwilling mind compared Thorin to the Great Goblin. It was the honor and the duty of all Longbeards to shield the line of Durin, but the Great Goblin would not take this lack of answer calmly. Thorin’s health would be saved with Balin’s blood. Was that really so different from this massive king who grew fat upon the suffering of his people? But it had to be so. If Smaug lived, only Thorin Oakenshield, holding the Arkenstone, could unite the clans to face the dragon. Only Thorin could win back Erebor, and that was a cause worth all their lives. He must not be revealed to the enemy. Not for any price. Not even if it cost Balin his life. </p>
<p>“Beat the truth out of them!” ordered the Great Goblin. “Pull their teeth until they talk! Start with the youngest.” His gaze fell at once on Gimli’s beardless cheeks. </p>
<p>Thorin stepped forward. </p>
<p> Once again, the Great Goblin had recognition in his face, though this time he did not recoil. Instead, he leaned forward with an evil smile. “Thorin Oakenshield. Oh yes, I know who you are. I know who hunts you.” </p>
<p>King Thorin said nothing. No fear marred his noble brow. </p>
<p>“There is quite a price on your head.” Taking up Orcrist and inspecting its glowing blade, the Great Goblin continued to taunt Thorin. “Perhaps I shall claim it with this. It’s only a sword, after all. Could be it beheads dwarves just as well as goblins.” </p>
<p>At exactly that moment, as the Great Goblin raised the sword, all the torches in the cave were snuffed out. Gimli had no idea what might have caused it, for there was no wind under ground. Then a light, bright as day, filled the place, blinding the goblins and doing few favors for dwarven eyes. Following the light to its source, Gimli saw the staff of Gandalf, and the long blade which shone with blue fire so akin to Orcrist’s in the wizard’s other hand. </p>
<p>“Take up arms!” cried he, striding forward to put himself between Thorin and the Great Goblin. </p>
<p>Obediently, Gimli slammed his fist into the face of the disoriented goblin who dared to hold his grandfather’s ax. Once the ax was his again and he used it to separate that same goblin’s head from its miserable shoulders. Gandalf was doing the same to the Great Goblin, whose last word was a howled “Beater!” Apparently, this was the name the goblins gave to Glamdring, Gandalf’s sword. </p>
<p>Upon the death of their king, the stunned goblins went into a frenzy, attacking the dwarves with abandon. Happily, Gimli was not the only dwarf to make good use of the enemy’s momentary stupor. Everyone had their weapons back, though packs and other supplies were a lost cause. </p>
<p>Thorin cleaved a goblin in twain, clearly happy to have Orcrist back in hand, then he lofted the sword overhead. “Du bekar!” </p>
<p>Following him, the dwarves answered the call. As they ran from the throne room and back out onto the streets of Goblin Town, they passed Gandalf, who seemed to be counting them each by name. “Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, good. There’s Dori and Nori. Oh, and here we have Ori. Good shot, there, Ori. Fili and Kili, of course, and Dwalin is with Thorin. Where is Balin. Ah, there you are with Gimli and Oin. Nice ax work, Gimli. Difficult to parry with an ax sometimes.” </p>
<p>Gimli couldn’t resist. “Gandalf!” he cried. “I knew Bilbo would find you and bring you to help. I knew he would not desert us! Where is he?” </p>
<p>Gandalf stopped his almost casual looking about to pin Gimli with a stare. In fact, he stopped so completely that a goblin blade very nearly caught him between the ribs, and might have done him great injury if Balin were not so quick with his own sword. </p>
<p>“Bilbo is not here,” said the wizard, seeming wholly oblivious to the fact that he owed Balin his life. </p>
<p>“No,” Gimli said. “He wasn’t taken. He gave the goblins the slip when they ambushed us. I thought he would go for help. He did not find you?” </p>
<p>“Bilbo is alone beneath these mountains.” At first, the young dwarf thought that Gandalf was talking to himself, his voice was such a low murmur, but then he heard his own name. “Ah, Gimli! Why did you tell me? I cannot abandon you all to search for him. I dare not! Yet do I dare remain?” </p>
<p>“He went back to Rivendell,” Thorin said, unexpectedly turning up beside Gimli, having apparently fought his way back through the crush of goblins. “He forsook the danger of the quest before we were attacked, and chose to return to Rivendell in the night. I bear him no ill will for his choice. This is no place for a hobbit. Nor will I hold you in low esteem if you choose to follow him, though I hope the great Tharkûn would not fear a few goblins. But you will not keep Gimli son of Gloin—whom I have sworn what protection I can offer—from my side in a place as dark as this.” </p>
<p>Honored, Gimli bowed to his king, taking advantage of his change in posture to hack at the kneecap of an attacking goblin. </p>
<p>“I will go with you,” Gandalf said, though his voice was full of hesitation. “It may be that Bilbo did, indeed, turn for Rivendell before any of this and is even now quite safe. I will see your company away from this place before I go to learn his fate.” </p>
<p>“Then by all means,” said Thorin, parrying the slice of one goblin’s cutlass and punching it in the face with his shield before spinning around to behead another coming for his back. “Let us go.” He finished off the stunned goblin with a swift thrust to the gut. </p>
<p>And so they went. </p>
<p>Goblins came after them, naturally, and fighting in the streets of Goblin Town was no easy work. Every wall seemed to have a secret window from which arrows might be shot. Kili, as the only archer, was hard pressed to return fire. From time to time the cobblestones of the street would open up in a trap door. Either a goblin would spring out, or a dwarf would have to scramble to avoid the pit full of spikes, the spring loaded spears stabbing deep into the opposite wall, the spouting flames of sudden alchemical fire. Doors opened just before or just after dwarves passed, and armed goblins swarmed out like endless ants from a hill. </p>
<p>Following the light of Gandalf’s staff and the gleam of Orcrist, Gimli fought. Through the streets, past the traps, and out of the oppressive alleys and corridors, the Company escaped the wicked little town. Escaping did not improve their situation. </p>
<p>Outside of the city the path narrowed. Unfortunately, it did not narrow to a nice close tunnel that would limit the number of goblins who might attack at any given moment. Instead, it thinned into an narrow ledge along a deep ravine. Across that divide was a larger cliff, overlooking the path the dwarves were forced to take. Arrows were not the only missiles sent by the goblins upon that cliff. They launched great rocks, nearly as large as those thrown by the stone giants on the mountainside. They hurled long spears. They sent clay jars filled with hot oil which made the narrow pass slick and nearly impossible to run upon. </p>
<p>Beside Gimli, Kili slipped and was only just caught by his brother before sliding into the ravine below. Mortified by this near miss, he immediately avenged himself upon the goblins by shooting a torch bearer beside another of the great clay jars, then punching a hole in that same jar with his second arrow. The oil ignited, creating a massive eruption of flame upon that particular cliff, sending several shrieking, burning goblins plummeting into the ravine below. </p>
<p>That was the last of the goblins attacking from above, and Gimli felt a great relief. Sprinting along the edge of a precipice seemed like no great danger if the goblins only attacked them from behind. He was, it must be remembered, a very young dwarf, and this was his first adventure. Wiser readers will know perfectly well that goblins who stop attacking from above are very likely planning an ambush up ahead as well as pursuing from behind. Wicked, goblins may be, but they can also be fiendishly clever. </p>
<p>Sure enough, the ambush sprang from below, some lower level just out of sight, upon which they set ladders and strangely asymmetrical siege towers. Once again, Gimli noted that while the goblin constructions were neither as sturdy nor as beautiful as dwarven towers would be, they were not ill made or easily toppled. Burying his ax in the face of the goblins scrambling up to attack was often the best he could do. Especially because King Thorin did not slow their pace. The goblins were endless. Thirteen dwarves could only hope to survive by escaping the mountain and taking refuge in the daylight which was anathema to the dark creatures. </p>
<p>Fili and Kili wisely caught the hooks of the next goblin ladder to latch on to the path, shoving it away from the ledge with dwarven strength. The brothers grinned at each other as it toppled backward. While so doing, they did not see what the goblin scrambling up to the top of the ladder held. The weighted and barbed ends of its whip wrapped around Fili’s waist. </p>
<p>Quick as a cat Kili grabbed his brother by the middle, keeping him from toppling off the narrow ledge. Gimli brought his ax down upon the taut leather of the whip, slicing it in two. He looked up at his cousins. </p>
<p>“That was close!” </p>
<p>“Too close,” Kili agreed, pulling the barbs of the whip from Fili’s leather armor to free his pinned arms. </p>
<p>Fili’s face still had a horrified expression, as though he was truly in fear for his life. “Gimli!”</p>
<p>Then, Gimli felt the claws at his throat. </p>
<p>Then, Gimli felt his own blood welling up and trickling down into his armor.</p>
<p>Then, Gimli fell backward into darkness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Interlude on a Carrock</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>...it's still technically Wednesday. Sorry, this one got away from me. It's like three chapters in one, but I wanted to confine Bilbo's perspective a bit. Bilbo Baggins is not easily confined.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bilbo Baggins looked at the crouching thing blocking his way to freedom. Beyond it, he could see dwarves streaming out of the mountain and into the sunshine. They whooped and hollered their war cries, fierce and joyful in the certainty of their survival. But Bilbo was not with them yet. His hand tightened upon the hilt of his little sword. Invisible as he was, slipping the blade into Gollum’s back would be the easiest thing in the world. </p>
<p>The terrible creature deserved no better. Hadn’t he admitted to using the magical ring to sneak up on goblins unseen? Didn’t he strangle and eat his victims? Wouldn’t he have eaten Bilbo if he won their riddle contest? In fact, it was quite clear that Gollum intended to have hobbit for his supper no matter the outcome of their game. For Bilbo’s victory did not induce Gollum to show him the way out, but rather to leap at him like a wild thing. Only luck and the magic ring saved his very life. Why then should he not end the existence of this miserable creature and escape to rejoin the dwarves? He needed to do so quickly. Dwarves were so much faster than hobbits. If Bilbo did not catch up with them at once, he likely never would. </p>
<p>Gollum turned. Bilbo lifted his sword, certain that he must thrust before those terrible teeth found their way to his throat. But he did not see Gollum’s teeth. He saw the creature’s eyes. Impossibly large and brimming with of tears. With deep sorrow in his eyes, Gollum did not look so much like a monster. In fact, between his wrinkled skin and his distant stare, he seemed for a moment like a very old hobbit, looking at memories instead of the world. </p>
<p>Bilbo recalled young Gimli’s words about killing a being that could speak, one who had a brother. He did not know if Gollum had a brother, but he had once had a grandmother, a family of some kind. For all Bilbo knew, he did so still. Or he was all alone. And so lonely that he longed to play a game with anyone, even the hobbit he wanted to eat for supper. Bilbo could not find it in his heart to kill the wretched creature. </p>
<p>Stepping back, he ran toward Gollum, leaping as high in the air as a hobbit could manage. Up, up, up he went, almost clearing the crouching figure between him and the goblins’ back door. Almost. Bilbo’s left foot caught Gollum in the ear, and a kick from a hobbit’s foot is not an easy thing to ignore. Gollum went sprawling to the ground as Bilbo landed, racing after his friends into the sunshine. Behind him, Gollum shrieked and scrabbled, but he did not follow Bilbo into the sun. </p>
<p>Nor did the goblins follow the dwarves. Dark creatures flinch from sunlight, and do not dare it except in greatest need. </p>
<p>So it was that the dwarves were able to slow the pace of their flight some little way down the mountain in a clearing among the pines, where they might stop and catch their breath. Even dwarves tire.  After waking in the middle of the night to be force marched through a strange city before spending the better part of a day fighting for their lives while running after Gandalf, the Company of Thorin Oakenshield was exhausted. This was a very good thing for Bilbo, who should never have caught up with them otherwise. </p>
<p>Vivacious as they seemed to him only minutes before as they fled the goblin tunnels, the dwarves Bilbo came upon in that clearing seemed half dead. Fili and Kili flung themselves upon the ground, Kili even going so far as to sling an elbow over his own eyes, shielding them from the sun. Oin also sat on the ground, a strange posture for the usually dignified dwarf. Even sturdy old Balin was bent double, breathing hard. </p>
<p>As Bilbo approached, he heard Gandalf’s voice. </p>
<p>“I trust you can look after yourselves for a while. I must go back and rescue our lost companion.” </p>
<p>“There is no going back for him,” Fili said without rising or lifting his head. “I saw him fall. His throat was cut before he left the ledge. With my own eyes I saw the blood. He is lost in truth, never to be found in this world again until the remaking of it.” </p>
<p>“No.” Gandalf’s voice was full of sorrow. “I speak not of Gimli, who may be gone as you say. Much as I mourn the friendship we might have had, it may be Gimli’s fate to leave behind the pains of this world, having fulfilled his part in the great working. Strife and anguish awaited him, even more than the rest of you, and now he will know peace in the halls of his fathers.” </p>
<p>Kili sat up then, lifting his arm to show tear streaked cheeks. “Do you go to find his body? So that the goblins cannot befoul it? I will go with you. I was closest to him, when he saved Fili. I should have caught him as he fell. I should not have let them have his body.” </p>
<p>“Oh, my dear boy, it was not your fault. I knew Gimli well enough to say that he should have thrown himself from that precipice a thousand times over rather than slow your escape or burden you with his unmoving weight. Retrieving the fallen from a battlefield is wise as well as kind, but we cannot afford to do so here and now.” Gandalf sighed. “I will not go back for Gimli, but I must learn the fate of Mister Baggins.” </p>
<p>Jarred by hearing his name, Bilbo whipped off his ring and darted forward out of the underbrush. All thoughts of playing some sort of joke on the dwarves entirely fled his mind. Instead, he simply cried out, “Not little Gimli! Surely you are not speaking of my young friend. Surely you are not saying he is dead!” </p>
<p>“Bilbo!” Gandalf cried in return. “You are here! How did you come through the mountains on your own?” </p>
<p>“Forget about me,” the hobbit said, looking about at the sorrowful faces of his dwarven friends, some of which—most notably Balin’s and Bofur’s—lifted to see him alive and well. “Say that I misheard you as I approached. Say that Gimli yet lives. And then tell me why I do not see him here.” </p>
<p>“He fell,” said Dwalin. The big dwarf met Bilbo’s gaze. His square jaw did not twitch. His bald forehead did not crumple. He did not weep. Yet the sorrow in his eyes was so plain that Bilbo could not doubt his words. </p>
<p>Bilbo wanted to weep. Collapsing entirely held great appeal. His own mouth trembled like a jelly on a bouncing tea trolley. Yet Dwalin was Gimli’s cousin. The lads were not only his cousins, but his dearest friends. While the death of such a child must always strike the hearts of all who knew him, Bilbo Baggins would not take more than his own share of the grief. Certainly not in the face of the bereaved family. </p>
<p>He nodded to Dwalin. </p>
<p>Gandalf tried to speak to Bilbo, but the hobbit walked past him. Very rudely, it must be said. Going over to where Oin sat upon the ground, Bilbo sat down beside him. He did not have the casserole large enough to feed twenty that his hobbit heart ached to offer. He did not even have any pipe weed. All he had was a flask of water refilled in Gollum’s underground lake, so that was what he offered. </p>
<p>After a moment, Oin accepted it and took a sip. Then he handed it back. No one spoke. </p>
<p>Finally, Balin said, “Thorin, we cannot stay here. When the sun sets, those goblins will come after us. You heard what the Great Goblin said: Azog hunts you.” </p>
<p>“Azog!” Bilbo looked up in surprise. “Not that pale orc who killed your grandfather. Didn’t you cut off his arm?”</p>
<p>Thorin met Bilbo’s eyes. Something flashed across his face. If he were any other dwarf at any other time, the hobbit might have thought he was gratified to have his story remembered, but Thorin was above such things. Almost instantly, his face was the usually stony mien. </p>
<p>“I might say that he died of his wounds in that battle, but on this cursed day I will believe any evil, unlucky thing. Indeed, the Great Goblin said it is he who hunts me. It may be as well that the goblins sent him word. Let him find me, then. For I am in a fell mood and ready to kill enemies.” </p>
<p>“Perhaps you are.” Standing up, Bilbo brushed off his trousers. Then he offered a hand to Oin. “But I am only a hobbit, and I would much rather run.” </p>
<p>Oin’s weight on Bilbo’s hand very nearly pulled the hobbit over, startling him so badly he yelped. All the dwarves laughed, then laughed again at the face of the irritated hobbit. Bifur helped Oin to his feet, and Bofur clapped Bilbo on the back, nearly knocking him to the ground once more. </p>
<p>“You are all terrible people,” the hobbit grumbled as they ran down the mountainside. “I don’t know why I’m friends with any of you.” </p>
<p>“Should have gone back to Rivendell when you had the chance,” said Kili, jogging past him. </p>
<p>“You’re stuck with us now,” agreed Fili, running backward to wink at Bilbo. </p>
<p>And although Bilbo continued to grunt and grumble as he ran, in his heart he resolved quite firmly that it should be so. Having failed one young person, he was not going to let anything happen to the other two. </p>
<p>This determination was tested as soon as the sun set. </p>
<p>As the last rays faded over the horizon, leaving the world with only grey moonlight, a howling echoed among the pines, bouncing between rocks and trees. Bilbo knew that sound now, so much deeper than the call of a true wolf. There were wargs on the mountainside, and their numbers were many. </p>
<p>Snapping teeth closed in around the dwarves from three sides, and Bilbo saw the orcs. So much larger than the goblins he’d seen briefly below the Misty Mountains, these reminded him uncomfortably of the party which chased them to Rivendell. Those orcs had been more than a match for Thorin’s Company, and there was no elven stronghold here to offer refuge. All he could see were pine trees. </p>
<p>Sure enough, up the pine trees went the dwarves. Bilbo could not reach even the lowest branch, and little Dori had to help him climb. Fortunately, the wargs, like ordinary wolves, could not climb after them. Instead they leapt at the tree’s massive trunk with scraping claws and snapping teeth. Not usually fond of heights, Bilbo decided he could make a perfectly fine life in a pine tree. It would certainly be of a much longer duration than his span if he tried to descend. </p>
<p>In the boughs high above Bilbo, Gandalf plucked a pine cone and blew sparks into it. Then he passed it to Kili to throw as he selected another. Kili’s aim was good. Striking a warg between the eyes, the pine cone exploded into flames, setting the creature aflame. It ran about for a few seconds, setting the underbrush on fire, before expiring for want of a head. </p>
<p>Fili either did not have his brother’s aim, or he was in a crueler mood. His pine cone struck the side of a warg, the explosion setting its fur and the rider on its back alight. That warg ran about for what seemed to be minutes before falling, though Bilbo did not watch it closely. For even as Ori made to throw his pine cone, Bilbo saw the real danger.</p>
<p>At the edge of the clearing, well beyond pine cone range, a few wargs prowled silently closer. Unlike the snarling, snapping creatures going mad in the fire light, tossing their riders who shrieked and squealed impotently up at the dwarves, these wargs were calm. In the shadows, the orcs riding them seemed taller than elves. And there, in the center of that group of dangerously composed fighters, Bilbo saw the pale orc. </p>
<p>Azog sat astride an albino warg, its fur as white as his skin. True, he had only one hand upon the reins, but his other arm was a cruel blade twice the length of Bilbo’s little sword. The hobbit trembled. </p>
<p>The language of Mordor rang out in the clearing. Bilbo did not understand the words, but he got the meaning of the short, sharp bark well enough. It was made clear by the way the orcs below immediately rallied to obey the order. Wrapping a chain around the tree, they pushed and pulled and slammed at it with the bodies of their wargs. All too soon there came a creaking of wood. Then a crack. The massive pine fell. </p>
<p>Fortunately for the dwarves, the tree toppled into another beside it. Even Bilbo was able to scramble onto one of the boughs of the new tree, though he was even lower than he had been and closer to the wargs. Unfortunately, their attention was no longer on snapping at the dangling heels of hobbits. Instead, they wound their vile chain about the new pine. </p>
<p>Tearing his eyes from the orcs, Bilbo glanced back over his shoulder. All he saw was a starry sky. At the edge of a sheer cliff with a long drop below, the felling of this particular pine would leave the Company of Thorin Oakenshield with nowhere to go. Nowhere but down.</p>
<p>Knowing this did not mean that Bilbo Baggins could do anything about it. The tree fell. Bilbo clung to his branch. Around him, he heard the cries and grunts of his friends doing the same. A few valiant roots yet tethered the dangling pine to the top of the cliff, but as Bilbo pulled himself up he saw the wargs coming again. They crouched low with hunched shoulders, preparing to spring. Upon their backs, grinning orcs brandished gleaming blades. </p>
<p> That was when Bilbo saw Thorin. </p>
<p>Striding down the center of the trunk with Orcrist in one hand and the oaken shield upon his other arm, Thorin was wreathed in flames. As he passed Bilbo, the hobbit read rage in his eyes and sheer determination on every line of his face. Looking at his straight back, Bilbo felt impossibly, incongruously safe. The wargs waiting at the base of the tree cringed away from Thorin, drawing backward.</p>
<p>Azog did not. </p>
<p>Thorin began to run, straight at the pale orc. </p>
<p>Azog’s white warg leapt, charging at full speed to meet the dwarf.</p>
<p>Bilbo should have known the outcome without seeing it. For all his reading of history, from the things his own people said about the Fell Winter when warg riders came to the Shire, he should have known what would happen when a mounted veteran met a foot soldier. Cavalry was bound to triumph. Cavalry always did in his books, unless they were inexperienced or poorly managed. Whatever else Azog might be, inexperienced he was not. So Bilbo should have known the only possible outcome of Thorin’s charge. Yet his heart raced after the dwarf, absolutely certain that he was about to see a hero save them all. </p>
<p>When Thorin fell, all the hobbit’s hopes fell with him. </p>
<p>Azog did not even kill Thorin himself. He simply gestured for another orc to finish the job. That orc slipped off his warg grinning. He drew a sword that glowed in the firelight, terribly amused by Thorin’s labored breathing. It was too much to bear. Before he knew what he was doing, Bilbo was on the new orc, stabbing him with his little sword. He stabbed again as the orc toppled backward. Then he stabbed a third time, a fourth time, a fifth time as the orc twitched beneath him on the ground. </p>
<p>Pushing to his feet, Bilbo whirled to face Azog and the other orcs. With Thorin behind him, he cried, “I will kill you if you touch him!” </p>
<p>Sadly, the orcs were undeterred by the sight of a hobbit swinging a small knife wildly about. Three of the largest slid off their wargs, stalking toward Bilbo with death in their eyes. </p>
<p>Fili tackled the first, knifing him in the throat. Dwalin got the next, sweeping his ax low to chop off one of its legs. As it fell, he beheaded it almost casually. Bilbo had no time then to count which of his friends were in the fray, nor their movements. All around him, the flames climbed higher, licking up the pines. A warg came for Thorin. Barely dodging the teeth, Bilbo managed a lucky swing with his little sword, putting out one of her eyes. </p>
<p>As the warg went down, her rider rose, leaping at the hobbit. Bilbo did not much like his chances against an orc wielding two long curved blades, one in each hand, but the orc never landed. Instead, great claws snatched the orc mid-leap. </p>
<p>Massive wings fanned the flames around Bilbo. His eyes refused to comprehend for a moment. The bird was impossibly large, an eagle with wings that seemed to span the sky. Nor was it alone. A convocation of eagles came soaring to the rescue. Wargs and orcs were as helpless against the flying fighters as a Thorin had been before Azog. Which was to say that they tried to fight as they were lifted into the air and dropped off the mountainside, but they fell. They fell so inevitably. </p>
<p>Azog began barking again in his guttural language. Falling back into the burning trees, the orcs began to draw out bows. Before any could shoot, however, the eagles swooped to snatch up dwarves. One took Thorin’s unmoving body, and Bilbo shouted as he saw the oaken shield fall from his lifeless grip. The hobbit’s shout turned into a scream as he was taken in turn by surprisingly gentle claws and tossed high into the air only to land on the back of an eagle. </p>
<p>Bilbo held on. There was nothing else to do. Around him, all the sky filled with stars as the burning clearing disappeared below and the world fell away. If he lived a hundred years, he might never see such beauty again, but he could only squint and bend forward. Staring hard, he could almost see Thorin breathing in the claws of an eagle up ahead. Through the darkness, it was impossible to tell. </p>
<p>Cold night air whipped into Bilbo’s face, bringing tears to his eyes. He did not try to tell himself it was only the swift wind stinging them to the surface. Alone with the stars and the soft down of the eagle’s back, he remembered Gimli. He couldn’t believe the dwarves would lose their leader so soon after losing their youngest fellow. If one day brought two such deaths, how could they endure it? He certainly could not.</p>
<p>After a moment, Bilbo looked up. One hobbit was such a small thing before the work of Elbereth Glithoniel. The ability to change the course of events was not in his hands. All he could do was accept the world as it came, and despite the speed of the eagles, it game slowly. Bilbo felt he hung there between the sky and the earth for days before dawn broke on the horizon and the eagles wheeled about, spiraling down to the earth. </p>
<p>When finally he slid from the eagle’s back to feel stone beneath his toes once more, Bilbo’s legs felt like jelly. He could barely stand. Balin put a hand upon his shoulder to steady him. The hobbit smiled briefly in thanks. Then he saw Thorin, lying upon the rock. Thorin was so very still. </p>
<p>Stooping, Gandalf put a hand to the dwarf’s forehead, muttering something Bilbo could not quite make out. When the wizard leaned back, a smile crossed his face. Thorin’s eyes opened. </p>
<p>At once, Dwalin was at his side, helping him to his feet. Thorin began as unsteadily as Bilbo felt, leaning heavily on his friend. Finding Orcrist, he sheathed the sword. Then he seemed to notice that his shield was nowhere to be found. </p>
<p>In any other circumstance, Bilbo would have been fascinated to note that Gandalf conversed with the eagles in Quenya. The birds spoke with formality as well as a certain amount of poetry. If he could tear his eyes away from Thorin, the hobbit would have offered his own thanks in that same tongue, but he could not. For just then Thorin met his gaze. </p>
<p>The dwarf did not smile. Instead, he drew up to his full height, stalking toward Bilbo. “What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!” </p>
<p>Bilbo flinched.</p>
<p>“Did I not say that you would be a burden?” </p>
<p>Looking down, the hobbit tried to soften his posture, instinctively making himself seem small before the big warrior. Thorin came even closer.</p>
<p>“That you would not survive in the wild?”</p>
<p>Biting his lip, Bilbo very pointedly did not argue that he’d come through the Misty Mountains on his own all right.</p>
<p>“That you had no place amongst us?”</p>
<p>It seemed to Bilbo that this was very true. No matter how he tried, he could do nothing to help the dwarves. </p>
<p>“I have never been so wrong in all my life.” </p>
<p>Warm, strong arms enveloped the hobbit in a powerful embrace. His face filled with the fur of Thorin’s cloak. His body pressed against the dwarf at every point, and still he was drawn ever closer. The rising sun behind him filled all the world with light, banishing the stars. Not even a memory of grief shaded his heart. Only Thorin existed. Stinking of sweat, blood, and old fur, Thorin overwhelmed him, consumed him. Bilbo clung eagerly, achingly bereft when at last the dwarf pulled away. </p>
<p>Drawn onward by some vision, Thorin walked to the edge of the rocky plinth upon which they stood. Following his gaze, Bilbo saw it. Away in the distance—beyond a vast, expansive forest—rose a single, solitary peak. </p>
<p>“Is that—?”</p>
<p>“Erebor,” said Thorin in a tone full of reverence. </p>
<p>Bilbo grinned, taking in the sight. “Then the worst is behind us.” </p>
<p>For a time, everyone basked in the rising sun and the vision of their future. Thorin stood next to Bilbo as they looked, and the hobbit could still feel the heat of the dwarf’s body burning all along his side. Unsurprisingly, Gandalf was the one to spoil everything. </p>
<p>“Bilbo Baggins, you are counting your biscuits before turning on the oven! There is a long road yet before us, and even this may not prove to be a place of safety.” </p>
<p>At last, Bilbo glanced around. While the great jut of rock on which they stood might be a natural formation, clearly the stone stairs leading down into the valley below were made by some person. From the height of them, that person was neither a hobbit nor a dwarf. </p>
<p>“What is this place?” asked the hobbit. </p>
<p>“It is called the Carrock by the one who made it,” said Gandalf, explaining nothing. </p>
<p>“And who was that?” Bilbo asked patiently, clambering down the steps after the wizard.</p>
<p>“His name is Beorn.”</p>
<p>“An old friend of yours?” </p>
<p>“No, we have never met.” </p>
<p>“But you know something of him. What is wrong Gandalf?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I am sorry, Bilbo. I find myself a little preoccupied at the moment. Hopefully, there is nothing to worry about with Beorn. He is a skinchanger. While not overly fond of dwarves, I suspect he will like you very much, and his hatred of orcs is enough that he should give welcome to any enemy of Azog, provided we introduce ourselves with care.” </p>
<p>“A skin changer? You mean he trades in furs?”</p>
<p>“He most certainly does not! I mean he changes his skin. Sometimes he will take the form of a great black bear, and sometimes he will appear as a tall man. It is his own art. You need not fear that.” </p>
<p>“Then what must I fear? For clearly there is something troubling you.” </p>
<p>Gandalf’s beard didn’t so much as twitch toward Bilbo, but his eyes slid sideways to glance at him very briefly as they walked. In answer, Bilbo looked back pointedly to where all the dwarves were lagging behind. Only Thorin could possibly have gotten any sleep during the night, and he was badly injured. Bilbo hardly knew the source of his own vitality, though he suspected it might have something to do with the warmth of a dwarven beard against his neck. Regardless, he was keeping up with the wizard’s long strides. The others were not. </p>
<p>“Bilbo,” Gandalf said at last, “That ring you found in the goblin tunnels—”</p>
<p>“What ring?” Reflexively, Bilbo’s hand slipped into his pocket, checking for the smooth band of gold. </p>
<p>“The magic one,” said Gandalf flatly. </p>
<p>Bilbo wilted.</p>
<p>“How did you come by it?”</p>
<p>“It was a present,” the hobbit said quickly. </p>
<p>“From the Lord of Gifts?” asked the wizard with entirely unnecessary sarcasm. </p>
<p>“No, of course not. From a miserable little cannibal who tried to eat me!” </p>
<p>“If he tried to eat you, Bilbo, why would he give you a present?” </p>
<p>Here, Bilbo felt on firmer ground. Less defensively, he said, “Because I beat him in a game of riddles. As you know, that is an ancient tradition, and a binding one. If my last riddle was not precisely my best, he agreed that it could stand if I gave him three guesses. He guessed four times, all wrong, and so I won. There’s really no arguing otherwise.” </p>
<p>Gandalf stopped walking. His eyes flashed in the sunlight like blue flames and he seemed to grow even taller. Bilbo could not look away. “You beat this creature in a game of riddles, and he agreed to give you that ring if you won?” </p>
<p>“Well.” Bilbo shrank. “Not exactly give me the ring. We didn’t exactly agree that the ring should be the prize. Gollum promised to show me the way out if I won, and eat me if I lost. He must have dropped the ring somewhere in the tunnels. I found it. Before I even met him! But I could hardly offer to return it to him under the circumstances. I didn’t even know what it did until he was already breaking our agreement and trying to kill me!” </p>
<p>“And what does it do?” demanded the wizard.</p>
<p>“Turns me invisible.” </p>
<p>As a matter of fact, Bilbo wanted rather intensely to put the ring on just then, for Gandalf was frightening him a little, but he resisted the urge. He was right to do so. Once he blinked, the wizard was back to being a friendly old man. Not threatening in the least. Swinging his staff, Gandalf continued walking down the big steps as though nothing unusual had taken place. </p>
<p>“Turns you invisible,” he said. “Of course it does. And that let you run away from this Gollum fellow?” </p>
<p>“It certainly helped,” Bilbo agreed. “Very useful thing in a tight corner. I say, Gandalf, do you think Gollum will come after me to get it back? He seemed more wary of the sunlight than even the goblins. He will not leave the mountain, will he?”</p>
<p>“I cannot say,” said the wizard. “Having never heard of this Gollum, or at least not by that name, I do not know what his limitations might be. But I will tell you this, Bilbo Baggins: magic rings exert a hold over those who wield them. The more one is used, the stronger that tie becomes. If, as I suspect, Gollum held this ring for a long time, he will do what he must to get it back.”</p>
<p>“Oh dear.” Not liking the sound of that at all, Bilbo took the magic ring out of his pocket. The gold was so bright in the morning light, so beautiful. He very much wanted to keep it. Nevertheless, he held it out to Gandalf. “If it is so very dangerous as all of that, will you take it? Surely you are magic enough already that this little ring shall do you no harm.”</p>
<p>Once again, Gandalf stopped walking. This time, he looked not at Bilbo, but at the ring in his palm. For a long moment they stood, then Gandalf whispered, “No,” striding away. </p>
<p>Bilbo had to hop to keep up. “What? Why not?” </p>
<p>“Best, I think, that you should keep it for now, dear boy. There may come a time before the end of this venture where going unseen saves your life. If, as you say, Gollum was afraid of the sunlight, then I think he will not come chasing you right away. No, we have a little time. Provided we use it wisely, all may come out well. Erebor first, I think, and Azog. Though his movement now takes on new meaning. And there is a necromancer in Mirkwood, they say.” </p>
<p>“I do not understand you at all!” </p>
<p>Gandalf stopped his muttering to smile, a little sadly, at Bilbo. “Understand that I am afraid of your ring, then. You deserve to know that much.”</p>
<p>“You? Afraid? But it is such a small thing.” </p>
<p>“A single pebble can start an avalanche and wipe clean all life from a mountainside. That ring you carry is no pebble.” </p>
<p>“Then surely it is safer with you!” </p>
<p>“I could do far more with it than turn invisible,” Gandalf said, “and I would. I would use this ring to retake Erebor from the dragon, to cast the shadow out of Mirkwood, to cleanse all the world with holy fire. And through me, all the world would burn.” </p>
<p>“Surely not. Surely if Gollum had such a thing he would have done far more evil than simply eating the occasional goblin.” </p>
<p>“Its strength is dependent on your own. I have no doubt that Gollum could do nothing more with it than turn invisible. I believe it will be the same for you. So long as you refrain from murdering anyone while wearing it, I can hope it will not do you much harm during a guardianship of short duration."</p>
<p>"Of course I am not going to murder anyone! I am a Baggins of Bag End."</p>
<p>"Precisely." Gandalf’s smile seemed a bit more genuine. "And I may be entirely wrong about your little ring. It may be the least of all rings and no danger at all. Still, if you would do me a service, keep it secret and use it only in dire need."</p>
<p>"I am already doing you a service." Fear colored Bilbo's tone with obstinance. "As you know full well. Currently, I am pretending to be a burglar. Though I beg to add that I have no more experience with such activities than with magic rings."</p>
<p>"So you are my good fellow," Gandalf agreed. "What's more, you are doing it without breakfast, or even dinner last night! Let us find Beorn's house quickly. If I know hobbits, you will feel much better about all of this once you have something in your stomach." </p>
<p>Suggesting that a hobbit’s mood depended entirely on the contents of his belly was the basest form of slander. Bilbo Baggins in particular was a complicated little fellow with all sorts of thoughts, feelings, opinions, and motivations unrelated to meals in any way. Nevertheless, it must be admitted that when Gandalf charmed the Company's way to Beorn's breakfast table the hobbit ate an entire loaf of bread and honey all by himself. More damming still, once he did so he felt significantly better about the situation. His little ring could not be anywhere near as dangerous as Gandalf feared.</p>
<p>Bilbo drained his tankard of milk once more. Retaking Erebor was what mattered. A live dragon might yet sleep there. Worrying about anything else was borrowing trouble. </p>
<p>To that end, the hobbit thought his concerns about the dwarf who would be king in that place were perfectly justified. Once his wounds were bathed and dressed, Thorin was given Beorn’s own bed to rest in. While this was most hospitable, it meant that as the rest of the company smoked, drank, and took their ease in Beorn’s hall, their leader was nowhere to be seen. Bilbo’s restless mind kept circling back to the last time one of his friends was out of sight. </p>
<p>Gimli would never be seen by any of them ever again. </p>
<p>Refraining from checking on Thorin until after he bathed and had elevenses took an act of tremendous will on Bilbo’s part. Just because his fears that the king might stop breathing when no one was looking were unlikely did not make them entirely unfounded. Hobbits are very light on their feet, and Bilbo had no intention of disturbing Thorin’s rest. </p>
<p>The gigantic door did that for him, by creaking on its hinges. Fortunately, Thorin was not asleep. Sitting up in the center of the enormous bed, he seemed to be watching the bees drone past the high window when the noisy door drew his attention straight to Bilbo. </p>
<p>“Mister Baggins?” </p>
<p>“Just popping in to see if you need anything. Did you care for elevenses? I know dwarves do not often take it, and only Bombur kept the meal with me today, but you need your strength more than most.” </p>
<p>“I thank you; I am not hungry. Breakfast was sufficient.” </p>
<p>“Anything else I can do? Or shall I fetch Oin, if you feel a need for his attentions?”</p>
<p>Thorin hesitated.</p>
<p>“Anything at all,” the hobbit pressed. </p>
<p>“Sit with me a moment?” </p>
<p>Flushing with pleasure, Bilbo entered the room and shut the door. “Happily! I know that resting can be dreadfully dull when one isn’t sleepy. Shall I tell you a story? Or I might sing if you are not particular about the melody. What would entertain you best?” </p>
<p>“I simply wish to talk.” Thorin’s eyes were as blue as the sky in June, but his dark features gave his face a melancholy air. </p>
<p>Bilbo hopped up to perch on the edge of the massive bed. It was hardly inappropriate since the distance between him and Thorin was almost the full length of the second sitting room at Bag End. “What shall we talk about?” </p>
<p>“I want to know,” said Thorin softly, “why did you come back?” </p>
<p>“Oh.” Bilbo looked up at the window. It was too high to see anything but the sky through, though occasionally a bee landed upon the glass to rest a moment before carrying on with the necessary labors of late summer. “I suppose I came back because I wanted to bring Gimli home with me.” </p>
<p>Thorin drew in a sharp breath. </p>
<p>“That is not to say that I ever made the offer, or even that I would have.” Bilbo held up a hand to forestall objection the king might make. “Well do I know that he had two living parents and no need for an officious hobbit. Were you there the day he told us how he wanted to spend his treasure when he got it?” </p>
<p>“No.” Thorin’s voice was as low as the gentle hum of the honeybees beyond the window. “Tell me, what did he dream?”</p>
<p>“He wanted to build a forge for his mother. It was clear to me from the first that he was a dutiful lad, adventuring to improve life for his family.”</p>
<p>“More than you know,” Thorin whispered. </p>
<p>Bilbo sighed. “He was so young. Gimli should have been sharing kisses with pretty lasses at birthday parties, drinking to excess with the lads, and stealing cooling pies from window sills. I wanted to bring him home with me to Bag End, deed him a bit of property, see him marry if he cared to, and watch him grow fat in a cozy armchair with as many of my books as he wished to read.”</p>
<p>“A fine life,” murmured the king. “And one you could have returned to. Contract or no, you owe us no fealty.” </p>
<p>“I could have returned to it,” Bilbo agreed, “but I could not bring Gimli. That’s the whole point. I could not bring Gimli without bringing his father and mother as well. Once I invite them, I must have Fili and Kili or it is playing favorites, and then the whole company. As you know, I do not have quite that many guest rooms in Bag End. I cannot bring you all home with me, so I must help you take your home back.”</p>
<p>Thorin huffed a small laugh. “Logic of a kind.” </p>
<p>Bilbo grinned at him, but he felt the smile fade into something soft and serious. “I am going to help you take your home back, Thorin Oakenshield. That is what Gimli wanted. It is what he died for. I might have thought Gimli was young to take on this quest, but I know perfectly well why he came.” </p>
<p>Thorin turned away. His next words were harsh, and seemed to address the floor. “You do not know why he came.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Know this, Bilbo Baggins. If you are nothing like what I thought hobbits to be, I am the very worst portrait of a dwarf you can imagine. Gimli was fifty years old! Even if he found his one, he would need the permission of his parents to marry. Under our laws, his guardian would have sway over any property he owned for another ten years. He had no place in war or the wild. I told myself that my cousin Dain was only thirty-five when he lost a leg in the Battle of Azanulbizar. But then, my brother was forty-seven, and he lost his life. Who am I, if I make Thror’s mistakes a second time?” </p>
<p>“Gimli wanted to come.” </p>
<p>“Yes, yes, of course he wanted to come. Any lad of fifty in the Blue Mountains would choose adventure over mining coal. It was my duty to tell him no, to give him time to grow into a warrior who could afford the losses which such a quest must inevitably cost.” </p>
<p>“Why did you bring him, then?” </p>
<p>“For gold.” </p>
<p>Thorin spoke no further, but Bilbo did not interrupt his thoughts. Instead, he inched closer and slowly reached out a hand to cover the one resting atop the bedspread. After a time, Thorin’s hand turned over beneath his own. Their palms touched ever so lightly. </p>
<p>“Gloin, Gimli’s father, was to come. He is my cousin, a noble warrior in the prime of his fighting years. He is also my greatest supporter. What taxes my people pay in the Blue Mountains must go to building a life there. I could not justify diverting any of those meager funds for this mad quest. Barely could I justify diverting myself! And that only because my sister has always been a more skilled politician than I. Well will she rule in my stead. Yet I thought we needed ponies, and provisions, and all the gear we have now lost in the mountains. For that meager gear which is now gone, I paid all the long years remaining to Gimli’s short life.” </p>
<p>“Why did Gloin remain behind?” </p>
<p>“He was injured. He could not travel. And he would not finance the quest unless his son came in his stead.” </p>
<p>“Then it was not your decision to make.” </p>
<p>“It was my decision!” said Thorin with sudden ferocity. “All decisions are mine in the end. That is what it means to be king! Balin begged me to choose otherwise, to find another way. To delay another year if that was what was needed, until Gloin could travel once more. I chose to take Gimli. My pride—my foolish, damnable pride—lead me to believe I could protect him. I cannot even protect myself. You should have let me fall before Azog’s blade. I deserve no better.” </p>
<p>Tugging on their clasped hands, Bilbo drew closer to Thorin, forcing the king to meet his eyes. “You deserve every good thing in this world,” he said firmly. “That your people have been robbed and murdered by wicked folk is the fault of those evil doers, not your leadership. You did not hold the sword that struck down Gimli. I know that if you could have taken that fell blow upon yourself in his stead you would have, Thorin Oakenshield.” </p>
<p>Thorin looked away. “That shield is gone.” </p>
<p>“No.” With a gentle hand, Bilbo dared what he would not have in any other circumstances, caressing the soft bristles of a bearded cheek to urge Thorin’s chin upward. “He is right here, with me. He is going to take back Erebor, so that his people can live in peace and plenty once more.” </p>
<p>Visibly stricken by this show of faith, Thorin’s answer was barely a whisper. “I am not strong enough.” </p>
<p>“You do not have to be alone. You do not have to feel this way.” </p>
<p>Leaning forward, Bilbo brushed his lips against Thorin’s mouth. He intended it to be a simple gesture of reassurance, of the sort often exchanged between grieving friends after a funeral, but when he drew back he saw how wildly he’d missed that mark. Thorin’s eyes were wide. His lips fell apart without speech. </p>
<p>Blushing furiously, the hobbit tried to draw away. Thorin did not release his hand. </p>
<p>“Mister Baggins,” the dwarf said, then stopped. “It occurs to me—I now dare to hope—that is.” He took a breath. “When Erebor is reclaimed and I sit upon the throne of my ancestors, may I have leave to court you?” </p>
<p>“Court me!” With more relief than humor, the hobbit laughed. “You are a prince, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“A king, though a pauper also. But if I reclaim my birthright—” </p>
<p>“You do not need to court me, Thorin. It is completely obvious that I am yours already. I was conquered entirely the moment I heard you singing at Bag End. Why ever else would I follow you across half the world?”</p>
<p>“Mine.” The blue of Thorin’s eyes receded, and Bilbo felt himself falling into a great depth, though neither of the pair moved an inch.</p>
<p>“Well, yes.” </p>
<p>“If you are mine, then I will have you.” </p>
<p>“Oh,” said the hobbit breathlessly. “Yes, please.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Under Hill and Unexplored</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gimli did not land upon his attacker. It is a well established fact that an adventurous hero who plunges down into a deep pit will survive as long as he lands upon the body of his foe. In failing to follow this customary procedure the young dwarf risked his best chance at surviving such a fall, but perhaps it is for the best that he did not. For the goblin who so viciously seized Gimli by the throat rode up to reach him on a heavy siege ladder, and it was not the only goblin clinging to that war machine. </p>
<p>Happily, that goblin fell backward with its feet still caught upon the top rung of the dislodged ladder. Landing like a mouse in a trap, it was crushed between the ladder and a jutting cliff edge. Other goblins swarmed around its body on that ledge, which would have been a most inhospitable place for an injured dwarf. Gimli, resisting his attacker, managed to free the goblin’s claws from his throat as he whipped backward. So he was alone and untethered at almost precisely the midpoint of the vast ravine. </p>
<p>Gimli plummeted. For at least twenty feet, there was nothing to arrest or alter his fall. Then he came to the siege ladder, stretched across the ravine with armed goblins still scurrying to one side or the other, trying to salvage the thing. Striking the rungs in almost the exact middle, Gimli snapped it in half with the force of his impact. The last goblins scrambled off the thing onto either ledge. Gimli saw them escape, knew he took none of them with him. He saw Fili’s face peering over the edge of the cliff in horror. Falling seemed to take so long. There was nothing to grab hold of, no way to slow himself. Darkness enfolded him as his cousin vanished into the distance, and still Gimli continued to fall. </p>
<p>Hitting bottom was like a sledge hammer breaking granite. Crushing force reverberated across the dwarf’s armor, sending the air from his lungs. But great slabs of stone did not rise from beneath his impact. Dazed and half aware, Gimli thought there ought to be. </p>
<p>Instead, incongruously, water splashed up around his face. Rather than sinking into a crater of his own making, Gimli sank ever further into a deep, rushing river. Stunned by this turn of affairs, not to mention the force of his collision, Gimli did not realize the nature of his peril until he was two lengths of his own body below the surface. </p>
<p>Even had he somehow slowed his sinking while still in reach of air, Gimli would have been in trouble. Assuredly, as a young dwarf growing up in the Blue Mountains with older cousins and a practice of communal bathing, he knew how to swim well enough. Well enough for baths and gentle streams, that is. Against a current as strong as the one now pulling him along at the speed of a galloping horse, the son of Gloin would have made little headway on his best day. To do so in a suit of heavy chain mail while clutching his ax was impossible. </p>
<p>Anyone of sense in such a situation would immediately let go of a heavy item in their hands. Similarly, they would kick off their boots, shuck any metal helms they might be wearing, and do everything else in their power to make themselves as buoyant as possible. If you are ever dropped into the center of a wide and mighty river yourself, it is the only possible course of action. Instead of doing anything of the kind, Gimli sank. Staring up into dark water that was at least four times the length of his own body, he did not even kick his feet. His lungs ached for want of air, but there was no air to be had. </p>
<p>Here, the fact that Gimli was a dwarf saved him. A man or elf—sinking and weighted down in such a manner—would be swept endlessly down such a rushing river even as they drowned; for the current would carry them thus to some terrible terminus like a waterfall or a wide, underground sea. Gimli was much denser than an elf or man. Instead of being carried away like a tree in a flood, he sank like the stone he was. </p>
<p>Once again, he struck granite, and this time it was stone in truth. Knowing well the feel of rock beneath his boots, he dug in his heels, planting the haft of his ax into the bottom of the river. As far as that mighty water had already moved him, it could push the dwarf no further. </p>
<p>Much has been said of the ability of dwarves to see in the dark. It is indisputably a skill given to all of that race. Moreover, Gimli’s eyes were young and sharp. Yet even so, it is one thing to see at night or along an unlit tunnel and quite another thing to see any distance underwater. Rushing water creates strange shapes in darkness and stings against an open eye. </p>
<p>Shutting his, Gimli told himself that the shapes he saw within that river were only shadows. Shadows that moved strangely in opposition to the natural flow of the water. He did not need to see. Down was beneath his feet, and thus up must be in the opposite direction. The current told him left from right very clearly. So it was that the direction which he must call forward made itself plain enough. As long as he did not lose his feet, he would not be turned around. </p>
<p>Boldly, he lifted one foot, bracing his weight against his ax, and took a step forward. He shifted his second foot forward. Then, readying himself, he dislodged his ax. Every muscle in his body strained, withstanding the press of the river, until he was able to plant his ax once more in the stone ahead of him. His lungs burned. He took another step. </p>
<p>Something brushed against his back in the darkness. It felt larger than a fish, and long. Terror filled the dwarf’s heart, but he knew that if he leapt, he would be swept away. Keeping his ax firmly planted, he stepped forward more quickly. He did not feel the creature at his back again, but for all he knew it was circling around to bite or grab him. Nothing to do but keep going. Perhaps a little faster than before. </p>
<p>Gimli picked his way forward step by step until he could go no further. Water seeped into his nose, and although he knew it would do no good, he knew it would only drown him, he opened his mouth. Choking, gasping, drowning, he flailed out his arm and touched stone. His hand gripped it by instinct. </p>
<p>The feel of solid rock in his hand allowed Gimli to grasp his mind once more. He pulled. His body moved. The stone did not. Above it, he found a second handhold in the rock. No mud or silt obscured the banks of the underground river, carving its way through the mountain’s depths. His hands found only stone, and it saved him. Scrambling up the rock, he hauled himself out of the water every last ounce of his strength. Something wrapped around his ankle, but he pulled free. It seemed to retreat back into the water. Perhaps it was only a weed. </p>
<p>Crawling away from the edge of the river on his hands and knees, Gimli collapsed face first against the cold stone. His ax clattered noisily against the rock as he released it to lift a hand to his throat. The long, shallow gash stung. He should wrap it. Putting pressure on a cut to stop the bleeding was about the extent of his medical knowledge, but that was not insignificant. He tried to get up and do so, but his limbs would not obey. So he shut his eyes for just a moment. He needed just a moment. Just to rest. </p>
<p>Many hours passed before he opened them again, of course. Without sun or moon, in an unfamiliar cave, there was no way to know how long he slept, but his clothes were relatively dry despite the cool, damp air. That took quite a while with chain mail over cloth. </p>
<p>He sat up. All around him was darkness. This did not particularly concern him. Born beneath the Blue Mountains, Gimli was perfectly at home in dark tunnels. Most of his immediate attention focused on his neck. Moving it at all caused a sharp, stinging pain. His hand against the cut soothed it somewhat, and he did not feel fresh blood, only rough scabbing along a thin line. </p>
<p>After falling into an underground river, cleaning the injury felt a little pointless. With a head full of Uncle Oin’s lectures over every scraped knee and bruised thumb, however, Gimli did his best. Then he washed his damp handkerchief more completely in the rushing river before tying it around his neck. He had no proper bandages. At least the pressure of his handkerchief kept the cut from stinging every time Gimli turned his head. </p>
<p>Taking stock of what he did have, Gimli was discomfited to realize that it was a lot of gold. He had his ax. He had his armor. He even had the helm his mother made for him. He was very fortunate to have that much, and a handkerchief as well. But he had no food, no rope, no bedroll, no flint, no fuel, no supplies of any kind, only the pouches of gold that his father insisted he hide about his person. If there was a shop somewhere, he could purchase supplies. Unfortunately, he very much doubted he would encounter anything of that kind. Goblins might take his gold, but they would only give him death in exchange. </p>
<p>And his family was gone. </p>
<p>He was alone. In all his short life, Gimli had never been alone. Even once he entered his thirties and earned enough independence to take a job, he was always walking through streets filled with dwarves, mining in groups with other dwarves, or within shouting distance of his kin. When he left the mountain tunnels to explore the fields and see the sky, it was always with his Uncle Oin, his cousins, or his mother. To be entirely on his own for the first time in the most dangerous place he had yet to visit gave him pause. </p>
<p>For almost a full minute. Then, shaking his head, Gimli filled his canteen with river water, rose to his feet, and walked in the only direction open to him. Up the river there was a place where the rocks grew narrow and he would have to go back into the water to pass. Since that was unappealing in the extreme, he followed the course of the river downstream. </p>
<p>Gimli’s stomach grumbled and growled, so he drank more water. He would have liked to catch a fish, but he had no line. The shapes he saw beneath the rippled, rushing surface were too large and far from the bank. Gimli did not think they looked much like fish, and he could not reach them with his ax. </p>
<p>They were probably only plants. </p>
<p>He told himself they must be only plants. Yet whenever he bent to fill his canteen with water, the shapes seemed to come closer to the river edge. Almost as though they were curious, or could sense his presence in some way. Gimli kept his drinking to a minimum. </p>
<p>After a few hours of walking, the rocky bank opened up further, expanding into a deep cave. Gimli found he had a choice to continue along the water, or to leave it and explore one of the tunnels winding away. He knew that the water was the safer choice. Water must lead somewhere, and there was a good chance that it eventually lead out of the mountains. Moreover, water was necessary. Staying beside the river would ease his worry on that front. If he had no other supplies, at least he had water. But water that hid something dark in its depths.</p>
<p>Gimli looked again to the tunnels at the back of the cave. They would lead to goblins. There could be no question about that. </p>
<p>Hopefully, the goblins would have something to eat. Straightening his helm, the young dwarf turned from the river to venture into the unknown.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. To Walk Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Walking away from the underground river was a great relief to Gimli. Dwarves are not hobbits, and are therefore no less comfortable with deep water than they are with sheer cliffs or vast deserts. Which is to say that while dwarves have no special fear of water, they naturally give it the respect that any sensible person grants terrain which could lead a careless wanderer to unassuming death. Made for the deep places of the world, dwarves are most comfortable surrounded by stone. By leaving the river side, Gimli soon found himself in such an agreeable position. </p>
<p>A man or elf walking through the tunnel he chose would have called it low, but the dwarf was able to walk at his full height only occasionally brushing against one side or another. Indeed, the young dwarf was so cheered by his new path that after a few hours he forgot he was not simply wandering through some lonely mine in the Blue Mountains. He began to sing.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Light as paper<br/>Light as air<br/>Twinkling like stars<br/>The Nauglamir <br/>Jewels there were <br/>From across the sea<br/>Set upon gold<br/>In perfect beauty<br/>Emerald and ruby<br/>Diamond, aquamarine<br/>Opal and amber<br/>And yellow citrine<br/>Amethyst, sapphire<br/>Topaz and red beryl<br/>Then crowning all<br/>The Silmaril<br/>Forged by Nogrod<br/>And Belegost<br/>The Nauglamir<br/>To Glaurung lost<br/>With all the rest of<br/>Nargothrond<br/>But when regained<br/>Radiance fulfill’d!<br/>For then was set<br/>The Silmaril<br/>Thrice-enchanted<br/>With holy light<br/>From ancient trees<br/>To banish night<br/>Elf-wrought once<br/>Ere darkness came<br/>Shining gemstone<br/>Of endless fame<br/>Stealing the glory <br/>Of dwarven hands<br/>The Nauglamir<br/>The dwarven lands<br/>What price upon the craft?<br/>What costs the jewel alone?<br/>Is not a setting worth twice<br/>The value of loose stone?<br/>The Nauglamir<br/>The Nauglamir!<br/>No other creation <br/>Was ever so fair<br/>The Nauglamir<br/>The Nauglamir! <br/>No golden torc<br/>Was ever so fair</p>
</div>So Gimli sang of ancient jewels, and many other such silly, dwarven songs which were popular in the Blue Mountains. Only when his clear voice grew dry and he opened his canteen for a little water did he realize just how foolish he was being. Quickly, he stowed the water and readied his ax, but no attack came. No goblins were close enough to hear. He was completely alone. A lucky coincidence. A daunting thought.<p>Gimli walked on. </p>
<p>Dwarves are very clever underground, but the arts they have are not strange, innate magic. Nor are they like a migrating goose with a compass in their brain pointing always North or South depending upon the season. Dwarves learn to navigate tunnels and caves. Unfortunately, Gimli was a very young dwarf, and had not had the opportunity to learn much more than those few arts taught to all dwarven children.</p>
<p>Of course he knew—as all dwarven children do—to navigate a maze by simply placing a hand against one wall and always following it. His mother told him this procedure might not lead him to the exit most swiftly, but it would ensure finding it eventually. Whether they were naturally formed or carved by goblins, the tunnels beneath the Misty Mountains were a labyrinth in truth. Whenever Gimli came to a branch in his tunnel, therefore, he took the left hand path and marked his choice with a small rune scratched in the dusty sediment which accumulated in odd places and strange patterns on the floor. </p>
<p>Eventually, his canteen ran dry. </p>
<p>Some time thereafter, his armor began to grow heavy. The wound on his neck began to throb. He sat. Just to breathe and rest for one moment. Turning back remained an option. It would be a long walk, but he could reach that river once more. At least he knew where to find water, and that there was nothing in this direction. To press on was only chasing uncertainty. His father would call it sending good money after bad. </p>
<p>His mother would want him home. </p>
<p>Humming softly to himself, Gimli remembered the songs she sang while working. Almost, he could hear her voice, and he did not feel so very alone. All he had to do was carry on. First, he would make it through these tunnels. Next, he would find his king. Thereafter, they would retake the Lonely Mountain. Then he could go home. What a fool he was to think the Blue Mountains were a bad home! Any place where hard work put food on a table was home enough compared to a hard road. Gimli had not known the privation his people faced before reaching Lune. He understood it now. </p>
<p>His stomach rumbled, the wound on his throat ached, and weary work weighed upon his limbs. Surrendering to nature, he closed his eyes.</p>
<p>A sharp kick in the ribs woke him. Gimli blinked just as the goblin was turning toward its fellows down the tunnel. </p>
<p>“I don’t think it’s dead, yet.” The goblin cackled. “Quite a shell on him, though. Who’s got pliers to pull out the meat?” </p>
<p>“Who needs pliers?” Gimli shoved his ax upward through the goblin’s lower jaw. “I can pull you apart easily enough.” </p>
<p>Rolling to his feet, the dwarf turned to face a shocked group of six goblins. He pressed his advantage. Rushing at the nearest, he lopped off its sword arm. It fell shrieking. The next got in a quick slash with a long knife, but the blade scraped harmlessly across Gimli’s chain mail, only cutting away some fabric. In return, Gimli planted his ax between the goblin’s eyes. </p>
<p>A short, brutal crush followed, during which three more goblins fell. Gimli’s final assailant turned to run, yelling an alarm. He gave chase, but he stumbled over the corpses of the fallen. One who was not quite finished grabbed his ankle, tripping him up. Taking the time to free himself gave the fleeing goblin too much time. It turned a corner. Racing after it, Gimli only just saw it’s foot as it turned another. Fortunately, that turn lead to a long stretch. Gimli was able to close the distance between them, just enough to feel confident throwing his ax. It landed between the goblin’s shoulder blades perfectly. It struck handle first instead of with the head. </p>
<p>Surprised, the goblin stopped running and laughed. Looking back at him, it clearly read some of that same emotion mirrored on Gimli’s face. It picked up the ax of Gimli’s grandfather. “Thought dwarves were above throwing garbage at an enemy.” A malicious grin split its face wide. “They do value garbage, sometimes. Do you value this garbage, dwarf? Shall I give it back to you?” </p>
<p>Nothing remained in Gimli’s hands. Any weapons dropped by his earlier opponents were too far away to reach. </p>
<p>Step by step, the grinning goblin approached. Hefting the long ax over one shoulder with two hands was terrible form. Gimli saw the strike coming long before it fell. Intended to be a cleaving blow, the ax was angled to fall between his eyes. Knowing as much didn’t alter the trajectory of the blade or make his exhausted, aching body nimble enough to dodge a strike from a more agile opponent. He was a dwarf. He would die like a dwarf: standing his ground. </p>
<p>Planting his feet, Gimli lifted both hands and caught the falling blade between them. </p>
<p>The goblin only laughed, and continued to push the blade down toward Gimli’s skull. Between the weight of the well designed ax and the leverage of its position, every advantage was on the goblin’s side in the ensuing contest of strength. Indeed, though he used every muscle in his body from his firmly rooted feet to his brawny dwarven shoulders, Gimli felt the ax descend. Inch by inch it came, until it tapped almost gently against the graven star adorning his helm. </p>
<p>His mother’s star. She would want to see it again. </p>
<p>By lessening the press of his left hand suddenly and shoving with his right, Gimli successfully turned the blade to one side. In doing so, he off balanced the goblin. The creature stumbled into him, still clutching the ax. This unbalanced Gimli in turn. Together they fell to the ground, wrestling for control of the weapon. Weight and armor were now in Gimli’s favor, and he slowly managed to twist the blade ever further until it cut slowly into the goblin’s shoulder. </p>
<p>Crying out in pain, the goblin released the ax at last. Gimli reclaimed it. Rising to his feet, he finished off his opponent with a quick, clean beheading. Almost instantly, the fog of battle lifted from his mind. </p>
<p>“Curse me for a fool,” he said to himself. “I should have asked which way was out! But I doubt they would have told the truth. Just as well, really.” </p>
<p>Much had been taught to Gimli in his young life of fighting and the ways of war. Indeed, he was impossibly skilled for a lad of his age, having trained to a strange perfection with Balin before leaving the Blue Mountains. Yet certain grizzly realities that now occurred to him were ones he had previously been spared. Cleaning blood from his ax was no new thing, but searching a body, even a goblin body, made him feel very low. </p>
<p>Still, it was a good thing that he searched. Three of the goblins carried water. Stinking, sulfurous water with too many minerals, but water. Gimli drained the first skin as soon as he found it, clearing the taste of iron and copper from his mouth. Meat they carried also. That Gimli left. He knew what meats were eaten by goblins. He would not risk such a thing. One of the goblins had some hard, strange bread at the bottom of a pack. Dry and unpalatable, it was nevertheless edible food. Gimli devoured the whole of it, mourning that there was not more when it was gone. </p>
<p>Comforting himself with the thought that he should certainly run into more goblins now that he had seen some—for it seemed a reliable way to get food and water—the dwarf walked on. He walked past the last dead goblin, the one who almost killed him with the ax of his family. He walked ten steps more. Then the tears started. </p>
<p>At first it was only one. A single, unwanted drop leaked from the corner of his left eye to trace a line down his blood spattered cheek. Then another followed. They were unworthy tears. To weep for a fallen comrade or a moving ballad might be permissible for a warrior, but only a child would cry because he was lost and alone. Gimli cursed himself to stop. Doing so did not help in the least. His shoulders shook. A low, wracking moan tore from his lips. He dropped his ax.</p>
<p>Telling himself he was wasting water, that he was a coward, that he was being childish, only made Gimli fall to his knees. His hands pressed against the uneven stone as he bent double with the weight of fear. And he found that the stone could bear the weight. </p>
<p>Taking a deep breath, he smelled the damp tunnel, not viscera. Much has been said of the inherent wickedness found in the Misty Mountains. Truly, they were created by Melkor, called Morgoth, to vex all good folk. Undeniably, greater evils than orcs dwelt beneath those heights: nameless monstrosities and dread fears. Inevitably, passing that range presents untold dangers to even the greatest warriors. Yet let it not be forgotten that it was beneath Mount Gundabad where the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves awoke. Durin walked that range alone until he came to the Mirrormere where he saw a crown of stars over his head even in the shining light of day. There, beneath Caradhras, Celebdil, and Fanuidhol, he established the first and most glorious kingdom of Gimli’s people. Beneath the Misty Mountains was Gimli’s ancestral home. He belonged there more than orcs, goblins, and monsters ever could. The way could not be shut to a dwarf of Durin’s Folk. Not entirely. With courage, he would make it through.</p>
<p>Rising, the young dwarf wiped the tears from his cheeks. Then he paused for a reason entirely unrelated to fear. He felt something like sand against his palms. Hurriedly, he rubbed them against his thighs, but the sensation was not there. Gimli touched his cheek once more. He felt it. A very fine stubble—even less than that which lined his jaw—grew there. It was the beginnings of a beard.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Unexpected Enemies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dwarves are slow to change, but hardy folk. One might be amazed at how quickly Gimli grew used to a life of walking alone through dark tunnels, for he never again gave himself over to weeping and bemoaning his fate. Three times more he encountered goblin patrols and hunting parties; three times more he barely escaped with his life and the meager supplies carried by such folk. He came to understand the passage of time by the weariness of his own body, and found safe places to sleep well before they were needed. Then he sat in the dark, his back against stone, picturing the faces of his father and mother as he awaited those few blissful moments of unconsciousness. </p>
<p>The thought that death might come from a goblin’s knife in the dark before he ever woke did not make sleep any easier, but sleep he did, eventually. It did not give much respite. Although he had no measurement for the passage of time other than the weight of his own body and the skins of water stolen from goblin corpses, he knew at least that he was making progress. He was not going in circles or doubling back along tunnels already walked. While he had no idea where he was going, he was definitely going somewhere. For he began to see signs that the tunnels were not completely natural. Here and there, ancient shoring held up a shaft. On one such construct of wood and stone, he even thought he saw a dwarven embellishment. But that may have been the decaying wood fooling his hopeful eyes. </p>
<p>Even if the sign was true, it meant little. In long forgotten days, dwarven settlements dotted the full range of the Misty Mountains. A single rune on some sturdy shoring did not indicate that he was closing in on Gundabad or Khazad-dûm. Indeed, he hoped desperately that he was not heading so far south as to be nearing the ancestral home of Durin’s Folk. Much as his heart longed to see that place—to look into the waters of the Mirrormere—it would take him very far from King Thorin’s route to the Lonely Mountain. In his heart, Gimli still hoped to catch up with his kin and rejoin that noble quest. </p>
<p>His more practical head knew he would likely die beneath the Misty Mountains, with only the natural caves for a tomb and a feasting goblin for chief mourner. But if that was to be his fate, he would sell his life dearly. Gloin’s son would not give something so valuable away freely. Nor did he wish to advertise the opportunity before being quite certain that he was willing to part with that particular ware. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, Gimli had little choice about that. His armor announced his presence with a fanfare that could only be beat by actual trumpets, so going any attempt to sneak through those tunnels was doomed to failure. Nevertheless, the young dwarf kept his own ears open in the hopes that any goblins creeping up on him in the dark might have some armor of their own and not take him entirely by surprise. This was middlingly effective. He caught an arrow in his thigh—just above his boots and just below his chain—the one time he failed to perceive a group of orcs waiting to ambush him in the dark. That was another fight he survived only by luck and will. And, it must be said, the cruel nature of the orcs who toyed with him mockingly rather than taking advantage of their numbers to cut him down at once. </p>
<p>In the darkness, his ears gave him the best warning he could hope for. Yet when he heard his own name, Gimli was too bemused to believe them. Reasoning it could only be the imagined voice of hope, he trudged on. </p>
<p>“Gimli son of Gloin,” the voice repeated, low but distant, and Gimli stopped walking. </p>
<p>Spinning about wildly, he looked out into a largish cave, full of natural stalactites and stalagmites with little evidence of either modern goblin or ancient dwarven works. There out of the darkness, stepped someone he never expected to see again. Brown boots, grey leggings, green tunic covered by a leather cuirass, lead to that extraordinary face. Gimli noted leather bracers but uncovered hands, open and unarmed. </p>
<p>“Gimli, I know not what dwarven eyes can see in this place, but it is I, Legolas of the Greenwood. We met in Rivendell.”</p>
<p>“Well, bless my luck!” Gimli cried. “Surely I am the most fortunate dwarf in all the world!” </p>
<p>The elf smiled, as though pleased by this pronouncement, and almost did not dodge the swing of Gimli’s ax. </p>
<p>“What are you doing?!” </p>
<p>“What I have sworn to do,” said Gimli plainly, swinging again and managing to slice away a few strands of that ridiculously thin golden hair as the elf leapt backward away from him. </p>
<p>“You cannot be serious,” it said. “We are surrounded by enemies in this place. Would it not be more sensible to form an alliance?” </p>
<p>“I am surrounded by enemies, indeed, but none that I have longed to slay so much as you.” Rushing forward, Gimli used his greater strength and weight to surprise the elf, tackling it into the wall with the shaft of his ax across its chest. </p>
<p>Still the elf did not strike back or attempt to kick him, only caught the ax handle and kept Gimli from bringing his weapon up to the elf’s throat to choke it to death. “I am not your enemy.”</p>
<p>“You are.” </p>
<p>“I mean, I needn’t be, Gimli.” </p>
<p>Thin as it was from long illness, the elf was strong. Not quite as strong as Gimli, but it had leverage on its side. Its throat was so unnaturally high that Gimli must push up to try to choke it, while the elf had the more comfortable position of pressing down to keep his ax at bay. Grunting, Gimli dug in the toes of his boots and pushed with greater energy. </p>
<p>“Mercy. I ask mercy.” </p>
<p>For a moment, Gimli shoved with renewed vigor, twisting his face into a ferocious scowl. The elf’s expression did not change. Placid as an empty pond, the elf simply looked down at him and repeated the word. </p>
<p>“Mercy. Please. I surrender to you. Do not kill me.” Its eyes were blue. Gimli hated knowing the color and shape of its eyes when he had no idea what the eyes of his own sister looked like. Nor would he, until the remaking of the world. </p>
<p>Pulling away belligerently, he said, “Fine. Fine. Make my just revenge a murder and rob me of the only meaning this terrible trek could hold. If you won’t fight back, I must spare you, though you deserve nothing but death. Give me your parole, then, and go away. I will wait to meet you on a better battlefield ere the end.” </p>
<p>While the elf stood a little straighter and brushed its clothing, it did not go away. “My parole I give gladly, but I shall not go. Having surrendered to you, I am at your service.” </p>
<p>Astounded by this audacity, it took Gimli a moment to find his tongue. “I will not be fooled by you a second time, snake. You have come to find me to learn more dwarven secrets, but I will tell none.” </p>
<p>The elf did him the courtesy of not feigning innocence. Spy or no, its face did not go wide with surprise, as Gimli half expected, but rather crumpled up like tin under pressure. Something deep and inherently dwarvish within Gimli took pleasure to see unhappiness wrinkle elvish skin. </p>
<p>“It was never my intention to use you to ferret out the secrets of your king.” </p>
<p>“Your intentions matter little to me, elf, and your explanations less so. That is what happened, and it shall not happen again.” </p>
<p>Turning from him, Gimli strode resolutely away, determined to listen to no more lies. Then the elf said the only thing that could possibly cause him to pause. </p>
<p>“Indeed, I have given up on attempting to understand King Thorin’s strategy entirely. I cannot think why he would send you alone so far south.” </p>
<p>Gimli did not turn back, or look at the elf, but he stopped walking. “South?” </p>
<p>“Yes. I thought you were heading to the Lonely Mountain, but that cannot be. For I myself entered the Misty Mountains at Redhorn Pass, and have come only further south since then to find you here.” </p>
<p>Looking down at his own boots, Gimli wondered if he could trust the elf’s word on that. Yet even if it was lying and he was on a northern course, the essential fact could not be ignored. He must be going either north or south: if he faced either west or east, he should have found daylight within a few days. Gimli knew nothing about his location. The elf did. He met its eyes. </p>
<p>“Do you know a way out of these tunnels?” </p>
<p>The elf smiled. “East or West?” </p>
<p>Gimli scowled. “No one likes a braggart. East. As you well know.” </p>
<p>“Oh yes, I know the lands east of here well enough.” </p>
<p>Although he was not well studied in matters of geography, Gimli presumed that meant that Mirkwood was to their east. Undaunted, he squared off against the prince of that place. “You will lure me into no dark forest.” </p>
<p>“Yet the dwarf requires directions underground? You would find the Greenwood more hospitable than this.” </p>
<p>Gimli restrained his temper, barely. If the elf was his prisoner, striking it would be the act of a coward. Yet the elf seemed to feel no similar hesitation when it came to cutting Gimli in his most sensitive place. </p>
<p>“Rock and stone are solid enough. Were they not, the roof of this tunnel would come down to bury you alive, elf. Blame not the mountain for the welcome you face here, but the goblins. And for myself, I would as soon face goblin steel as elvish arrows.” </p>
<p>“I tell you, you will face no elvish arrows. You will be as welcome in the Greenwood as you were at Rivendell.” </p>
<p>This was too much. Gimli grabbed the elf by his cuirass, jerking him down so that their eyes met. “Would I, elf? Was my sister?” </p>
<p>Then its eyes did go wide with startlement. The elf’s mouth opened, but no words came. Finally, it looked away to break Gimli’s gaze and he was forced to release it or bully an unresistant opponent. </p>
<p>“One dwarf alone is very different from a kingdom in exodus,” the elf said at last. “We had not the resources to aid so many. My king made a difficult decision to protect our borders. Belaboring it now is pointless. I regret my actions—I do regret—but I cannot change the past.” </p>
<p>“Lies! Save your breath. I will not listen to your attempts to warp my uncle’s testimony.” </p>
<p>“No,” the elf agreed. “Let us not speak of the past, but only do what we must to get out of this place alive.” </p>
<p>Since this was sensible enough, Gimli nodded. </p>
<p>“We should pool our resources.” </p>
<p>Grudgingly, Gimli nodded again. “I have water. Nearly two skins.” </p>
<p>The elf’s bright smile was out of place in the dark tunnel. Gimli trusted it less for smiling at such a time. “That is good, for I am nearly dry, and I have no skill at dowsing in such dark places. All smells dank down here, as though a fetid pool might be around any corner, but I never seem to find it.” </p>
<p>Gimli might have given it a lesson in condensation on stone, but he felt no obligation. </p>
<p>“Any food?”</p>
<p>“Feed yourself, if elves eat ought but starlight.” </p>
<p>It laughed. “Starlight is in short supply down here, but I have some few rations brought from Rivendell that might be shared.” </p>
<p>When it produced smoked meat, hard cheese, way-bread, and dried fruit, Gimli nearly embraced his sworn enemy. The cheese melted upon his tongue, the bread filled his belly, the meat gave him something to chew, and the dried fruit was the sweetest treat he could imagine tasting. Nor did the elf mock him for his hunger, only waited until he finished before offering to rebind the wounds on Gimli’s neck and thigh. This, too, Gimli allowed, and the kind touch of gentle hands after so long alone nearly proved his undoing. </p>
<p>“Why are you here? Why seek me out?” </p>
<p>The elf hesitated. “Because you were lost,” it said. </p>
<p>For a spy, it was not particularly skilled at lying. Gimli could read falsehood in its face, and he cursed himself for doubting the known judgment of his king. Perhaps he could use this temporary alliance with the elf to find his way out of the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the Misty Mountains, but he could not trust it. </p>
<p>He could never trust an elf.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Mists Below Mountains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You go first.” For good measure, Gimli prodded the elf’s back with his ax handle. </p>
<p>Unaffected, the elf strode forward into the dark tunnel. “I intended to.”</p>
<p>Ahead of them, the tunnel stretched too wide for Gimli’s comfort. Tall was good, for it meant fresh air with no risk of those natural pockets of gas which might suffocate or ignite an unwary dwarf, but a wide distance between two walls unsettled him. Happily, the elf lead along the left hand side of what soon opened up into a vast cavern, and Gimli could only follow, pleased to stay close to at least one wall. His clinking armor was the only sound in the place as they walked, but it echoed among the cave’s natural pillars, beaconing enemies forth. </p>
<p>Thick as tree trunks, those pillars obscured his vision and interrupted the darkness in turns. Neither stalagmite nor stalactite, they were grown so long as to join above and below in equal measure. Gimli enjoyed them, for he knew that disturbing such growth was a terribly simple matter, and their very thickness meant that the cave had been without occupants for many, many years. </p>
<p>Eventually, they passed from the expansive cavern into smaller tunnels and the elf chose one that looked particularly unreliable to Gimli. He could not follow in silence. </p>
<p>“Why this one? The right hand course is clearly more stable.” </p>
<p>It shrugged. “This is the one that goes east. Should we not take the swiftest path?”</p>
<p>“How do you know? If you hold a map of this place, I would have you show it to me now.”</p>
<p>“No map, I simply know which way is east.” </p>
<p>“Like a goose knows the way south? Is this some elven magic?”</p>
<p>Laughing too loudly, it looked down at Gimli with an all too knowing expression. “Will you ferret secrets from me to give to your people then? Better to ask me for the strength of my father’s defenses than magic. I have no skill in the elven arts occasionally termed such by other peoples.” </p>
<p>“Then how do you know the way?” demanded Gimli. </p>
<p>Once again, it only shrugged. Turning away, it began to walk down its chosen tunnel. “I know which way I was facing when I entered this place. I know how many times I have turned to the left or to the right and by how much. I know the direction I face now. For two thousand and nine hundred years, I have walked through lonely, wild places following the tracks of beasts, the song of birds, the whisper of the wind: I can keep a map in my head.” </p>
<p>To this speech, Gimli had no rejoinder, but he later wished he made one. For the tunnel that pointed due east according to the elf soon became so thin that Gimli had to squeeze and so short that the elf walked nearly bent double. Pressing through a particularly tight spot, the elf said loudly, “It opens up a little further on.” </p>
<p>In fact, this was so, but the elf’s words caused damage enough before then. The rocks above gave way, and the tunnel collapsed upon them. On instinct, just as his crew leader Bifur had done so many times for him in the mines of Ered Luin, Gimli knocked the elf flat and took the brunt of the rocks against his sturdy armor. </p>
<p>The elf blinked up at him. It must have turned in the fall, and their faces were unfortunately level despite the awkward sprawling of its lanky limbs. “Gimli?” </p>
<p>“Go,” he grunted. “Quickly.” No more than that could he say with the crushing weight of a mountain on his back as his hands and knees cracked the rock below him, weakening the whole support ever more. </p>
<p>Like an arrow from its bow, the elf shot out from beneath Gimli into the wider space ahead, but it left one end of a rope behind it. “Grab hold, and I will pull you to safety!” </p>
<p>Ignoring this instruction, Gimli moved first his left hand, then his right. Inch by inch, he crawled forward like a baby, slowly pulling himself free of the crushing rock. Behind him, stone and pebbles slipped down, filling in the gap and closing off any hope of going back. When he was finally free, Gimli collapsed, resting his cheek against the ground. He did not bother to look at the elf. </p>
<p>“Are you hurt?” it asked. “How can I help? Should you remove your armor to breathe?”</p>
<p>“Go away,” said Gimli. Miraculously, the elf left him alone for a time. Shutting his eyes, Gimli felt his breath come in the steady rhythm of a bellows. His body ached, but testing each pain he recognized only muscle strain and bruises added to the wounds upon his neck and thigh. Eventually, he flung himself over onto his back. No new pain declared itself. His breath still came easily. No broken bones or new wounds troubled him. </p>
<p>For all that it was taller, the tunnel roof above him looked much the same as the collapsed one at Gimli’s feet. Uneven, loose stones were wedged together by circumstance with lots of grit and sand to drift free, ready to collapse at the slightest provocation. Gimli wanted proper dwarven architecture with vaulting halls and blocks cut to last in perfect symmetry for all the ages of the world. Failing that, he would have liked to see a natural formation molded by water or molten stone, smoothed into a single, unified piece over thousands and thousands of years. Instead, he saw only danger. </p>
<p>So he got up. The elf stood already, watching him in silence. As he brushed the dirt and dust from his hands, drawing his ax from the sheath at his back to ensure the blade was unbroken, it spoke again. </p>
<p>“Can I redress your wounds?” </p>
<p>“Certainly! Shall we discuss the starvation and long exodus of my people as they were ignored by a once sworn ally, some older grievance like elves feeling entitled to dwarven work without fair compensation, or this most recent injury you have done me by insisting upon a path I knew to be unsafe?” </p>
<p>The elf’s reply came through gritted teeth, which soothed Gimli’s temper somewhat. “I mean the bandage on your neck, which is covered in filth.” </p>
<p>“And waste what little water we have?” All Gimli wanted in the world was a bath and the feel of clean cloth against his skin, but drinking would be necessary long before he took an infection from the wound. Moreover, in such an unstable place, stopping any longer could be suicide. </p>
<p>“You are impossible!” cried the elf. “What does it take for me to prove myself? I have come to this dark, dangerous place only to give you aid. Does that not buy me a little civility?”</p>
<p>“It seems to me you need more aid than I in this place.” Gimli’s hand tightened upon the handle of his ax, and he did not sheath it as he first thought to do. “But tell me, how did you know I was lost and alone? How did you find me in this darkness which you are clearly less suited to navigate than I?” </p>
<p>When it went still, the elf looked like a marble statue with a single, thin line sketched on in place of a mouth. “Luck,” it said briefly. “Very bad luck on my part. But I will not leave you even so.”</p>
<p>As wholly insufficient as this answer was, Gimli did not retort. For in that very moment, a little dust rained down from the roof overhead, tinkling against the scales lining the back of the dwarf’s helm. “This is not the place to talk. Go.”</p>
<p>The elf said nothing, and wasted what seemed to be a great deal of time staring down at Gimli. </p>
<p>“What are you waiting for?” the dwarf growled, and would have shoved it off down the tunnel had it not immediately started walking. </p>
<p>It did not look back at him. </p>
<p>Eventually the unstable tunnel opened into a vast cavern. Glad as Gimli was to feel a vaulting roof high overhead and to see stable stalagmites growing up from the ground in long undisturbed patterns, he was immediately unsettled as the elf strode out toward the dark center instead of sensibly sticking to one wall. </p>
<p>“What are you doing?” he asked. Too loudly. Gimli’s voice echoed in the vast chamber, announcing his presence to any and all inhabitants of the big place. </p>
<p>“East is this way,” the elf said simply, pointing straight into the black, empty middle area. </p>
<p>“So is a sinkhole, most likely!” whispered Gimli furiously. “Or some kind of lake, which I grant you would not be an unlucky find. Or a dragon! The point is we know not. Leaving the protection of the wall is a pointless risk.” </p>
<p>Cocking its head to one side, the elf asked, “Are you afraid?” </p>
<p>With his courage thus called into question, Gimli had no choice. But he fumed silently as he followed the elf into the darkness. At first, he was too angry to notice the mist rising up around their feet as they went ever deeper. When it reached his waist, however, he took note. </p>
<p>Despite cool air and much condensation, mist in caves was actually relatively rare, Gimli knew. For mist to form, warm air must meet the cool somewhere. Such conditions were uncommon. In fact, he had never once seen it occur in the Blue Mountains. Gas was much more likely, and much more dangerous. Given that one option was so clearly better, safer, and more fortunate, Gimli deeply suspected that mist was entirely impossible. When he drew a hand through it, however, he came up with water. It even tasted like water, along with the dirt from his hands. </p>
<p>“There will be a lake ahead, then,” he said, more to himself than the elf, “or some kind of hot spring.” </p>
<p>“There is something ahead,” the elf agreed distantly. “Open air, perhaps. I smell summer rain.” </p>
<p>Impossible as Gimli knew this to be, he did not argue. His own nose spoke of minerals and steam, which seemed equally unlikely. Yet as they walked, the stalagmites littering the cave floor smoothed away. The stone beneath his feet grew level, and he could see the edges of great blocks, hewn with dwarven symmetry. At the very edge of his hearing, voices echoed softly. Not the harsh cries of goblin violence, but the soft lilt of laughing dwarves.</p>
<p>“It cannot be a bath,” he mumbled, though a big, warm dwarven bath was what he wanted most in all the world. </p>
<p>Saying nothing, the elf quickened its pace. Gimli followed. </p>
<p>Coming to the center of the cavern, Gimli began to doubt his senses. Rising up from the stone like the walls of a castle was a marble bath of impossible proportions. Elaborate tiles decorated the smooth sides in a colorful mosaic of dwarven patterns. He saw among them discrete runes for safety, protection, security, and welcome. Fountaining down from above were luxurious waterfalls, explaining the mist and the source of the warmth. Laughter echoed from within. Dwarven laughter.</p>
<p>With surprising eagerness, the elf rushed forward. Gimli caught its arm. “You risk your life. They will not welcome you!”</p>
<p>It laughed at him, slipping from his grip somewhat to hold his hand instead. “Who will not welcome me? The open sky and the singing birds? We have long been friends, young Gimli. Come! I will introduce you.” </p>
<p>Confusion more than realization caused Gimli to dig in his heels and resist the elf’s pulling hand as it rushed forward into the bath. No dwarven war cries rang out, which was another point for Gimli to consider. Clearly the elf saw open sky and some natural vista Gimli did not. </p>
<p>“It is no business of mine, what illusions are seen by elven eyes,” he grumbled to himself. Yet his suspicious heart suggested that if the elf saw false images, then the evidence of his own eyes might also be less than true. </p>
<p>So he shut his eyes tightly—covered his ears for a moment against the rushing water and laughing voices—focusing on the pain in his wounded thigh, the stinging across his lacerated throat. These things he knew were real. He resolved to take nothing else for granted. </p>
<p>Opening his eyes, Gimli saw the monster.</p>
<p>With immeasurable girth and trailing slime, it clung to the roof of the cavern, but whether the thing grew like a strange mushroom or simply stuck in place like a slug, he could not tell. Its body was an amorphous blob of oozing, writhing skin which wrinkled and trembled with directionless excitement. That which Gimli’s vision rendered as waterfalls, his clear mind now knew to be tentacles, meant to pull food up into a gaping, spiraling maw which swirled at the center of the creature like a whirlpool full of teeth. He knew and understood this to be true, for one of those enormous tentacles was wrapped about the elf, drawing it upward. </p>
<p>The elf, for its part, lay placidly in the monster’s grip, seemingly content to be eaten. </p>
<p>Gimli took a step away. The abomination made no move to give chase. Those dangling tentacles could reach only so far. He was safe enough, if he gave a wide berth. Gimli noted with no little horror that the tentacle slowly, inexorably drawing Legolas up into that impossible spiral of a mouth was not so much lifting the elf as retracting into the gelatinous mass. It might not be such an awful death, if the dream imposed upon him by the creature’s mists proved a pleasant one. Indeed, it might be a far more gentle death than the one such an elf deserved. </p>
<p>“I will not leave you even so,” seemed to echo in anger through the mist. </p>
<p>Cursing, Gimli ran forward, drawing his ax in a single fluid motion to cleave the tentacle holding Legolas away from the rest of the monster’s undulating flesh. Slicing through the skin was like cutting thick leather, and it seemed to be full of viscous, gelatinous liquid instead of meat and bone. Worst of all, the thing made no sound. It did not howl like an injured beast, shriek like a dark creature, or even laugh at Gimli’s meager effort to do injury to its vast, endless girth. The only sound in the cavern was the squelching gush of ooze falling from its open wound.</p>
<p>“Legolas,” Gimli cried, as the elf splashed down onto the slime covered floor of the cave beneath the massive beast. “Awake! Fear! Fire! Foes!”</p>
<p>Obligingly, Legolas groaned and stirred slightly, but he did not rise. Gimli kicked him with one foot as he turned his ax upon a second massive tentacle which whipped down with startling speed. He managed to deflect it, but his ax did not break the skin. More tentacles dropped down around them. For a moment, Gimli had the impression of being in a thick forest. Then he felt surrounded by orcs as those same tentacles swarmed to attack him with startling agility. He struck them in return, cutting them back aggressively, but not being able to dodge out of the way severely limited his ability to defend.</p>
<p>Yet the tentacles seemed to seek Legolas as much as they slapped at Gimli. Standing over the elf was naive, pointless, and likely to get Gimli killed. Not only that, but if he did save the elf, Legolas would likely only use him once more to learn secrets that only dwarves should know. Gimli wished he had the heart of a seasoned warrior who could make the cold, correct calculation and leave the elf to its fate. But the truth was, Legolas had given him food when he was starving, friendly words when he was alone, and direction when he was lost. Gimli could not now leave him to die. </p>
<p>He kicked the elf again. “Wake up, you fool! If you do not wake, we will both die here!” </p>
<p>In the half second his attention was divided, an enormous tentacle wrapped around Gimli’s waist, coating him in slime. Stabbing down at it with his ax was futile. It only grappled him further, coiling around him again to pin his arms to his sides. Slowly, it began to lift him. He looked up into that dark, swirling whirlpool above. How could a creature with no bones have such white, jagged teeth? The tips of his boots rose off the ground. He struggled, but was entirely suspended. He looked down. Legolas’s eyes were blue. And open. </p>
<p>“Legolas!” he cried.</p>
<p>In an instant, the elf was up from the ground, then up in the air, kicking from one tentacle to the next so quickly that the things could not envelop him. Two knives flashed in his hands and slashed through the tentacle holding Gimli. Then it was Gimli’s turn to crash down to the ground coated in ooze. He did not mind at all. </p>
<p>Knives could not cleave as Gimli’s ax did, so the dwarf took it upon himself to clear the thicket, spinning and dodging as he hacked away at the dangerous appendages. As he did so, Legolas drew his bow, shooting arrow after arrow into the mass above. At least one shot struck something which hurt the creature badly, for although it still did not cry out in any way, all the tentacles drew up into the body, retracting like a snail into its shell. </p>
<p>Gimli did not pause to see if it was slain, but sprinted away as quickly as he could. Legolas followed suit, looking back only after they were too distant for Gimli to see the thing. “It lives,” the elf said dispassionately, “but it is much shrunken from the damage you dealt it.” </p>
<p>“I see no need to go back and finish the job,” said Gimli. “And if you’ve a sudden desire to get within range of those tentacles again, I say this mist affects you once more.” </p>
<p>“No,” Legolas agreed. “I see no need for that.” Then he drew and shot five more arrows, slowly and carefully aiming each one off into the darkness. Although Gimli could not see, he imagined he heard the splash of a severed tentacle once or twice. Finally, the elf smiled. “It is done.” </p>
<p>“I don’t believe a word of it, you braggart,” Gimli said. But believe he did.</p>
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